


Say Nothing

by Kevin_Mask (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Kinnikuman Nisei | Ultimate Muscle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage - Adult/Minor, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unmarked Triggers (Due to Spoilers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 56,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21934738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Kevin_Mask
Summary: Chaos was Mantaro's childhood friend, his lover,his soulmate. . .If anyone should have known what was wrong, it should have been him. He never realised what horrors Mantaro endured during training, all at the hands of one they trusted, but he knew that he would never let Mantaro be hurt again. Together, they would bring Buffaloman to justice. He would help Mantaro to cope with his trauma.(Alternate Universe - no time-travel arc)
Relationships: Kinniku Mantaro/Buffaloman, Kinniku Mantaro/Chaos Avenir
Comments: 40
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Non-Con Oral

The door slammed.

Mantaro flinched. A cold silence descended about the office. The desk-light created a ‘spotlight’, as it was angled towards the door, and Mantaro raised a hand to protect his eyes, while the blinding light struck at him with a sharp and stinging pain. It created a barrier. The occupant of the office was shielded from sight, as they sat in a leather chair with arms folded. They were nothing more than a shadow . . . a block of black vaguely outlined by the Tokyo cityscape.

The small light from the window gave them a glow . . . it emphasised their silhouette . . . _muscles, bulk, authority . . ._ a chill ran through Mantaro, as he bit hard into his lower lip. He stepped back. The door pressed against his back, where his hands brushed against the cold wood. Mantaro pushed more and more against the wood, as if he could somehow move through the door and make his escape, but instead it only served to send a deep ache through his joints. He screwed shut his eyes and angled his head to the side, where he forced deep and slow breaths.

A low laugh escaped the man at the desk.

The light was turned down by rough and callused hands, giving Mantaro a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and now more natural ambience. A chair scraped on tiles. The sound brought bile to the back of his throat, as tears pricked at his eyes and distorted his still adjusting vision, and that figure . . . _tall, looming, ominous_. . . stood with fingers pressed against the desk. The tiny pair of black ‘shorts’ were the only item of clothing, typical of the older generation’s uniforms, and they marked a prominent bulge . . . an erection.

Buffaloman grabbed at his crotch. The gesture made the blood drain from Mantaro’s cheeks, as he paled beneath his mask and struggled to stay upright, and – as bursts of colour danced across his vision – he half-turned and slapped his hand against the doorknob, where his sweaty palms made a strong grip impossible. A series of high-pitched keening sounds fell from his throat, as his lips trembled and his nose streamed. Buffaloman said through laughter:

‘You want to earn your “A”, Mantaro?’

He came around the desk and grabbed at Mantaro’s chin. A quick jerk snapped his head. It sent a shooting pain through the base of his skull, while Buffaloman stepped close enough that his breath was moist and warm against Mantaro’s mouth. He snatched at Mantaro’s hand, which still clawed and clamoured for the doorknob, and held so tightly that a red mark appeared on his wrist in the shape of a handprint. Mantaro swallowed back a painful lump.

The beating of his heart was loud and fast, echoing in his eardrums. It drowned out all other sounds, as Buffaloman dragged him over to the desk, and leaned his buttocks against the edge, before shoving Mantaro down onto his knees where he “belonged”. The tiles struck hard. A searing pain ran red-hot through his legs, as Mantaro let loose a yelp, and – with force – two long fingers shoved forcibly into his mouth, where they gagged and choked Mantaro. They toyed with his tongue and thrust in and out with great speed. Mantaro faked a pleasured moan.

‘Yeah, I knew you’d be into this . . . such a cock-whore.’

Buffaloman thrust forward. He rubbed his crotch against Mantaro’s face, where the clothed erection was warm through the fabric, and Mantaro instinctively moved and jerked and pulled his head in all directions to get away from the leaking cock. Two rough hands grabbed at his neck and lower head, where they held it firmly in place and kept him still . . . _“no, please, I don’t want to, please, no”_. . . Buffaloman thrust forward again, shoving his bulge into the blubbering and hiccupping mouth. Mantaro fell silent with a loud whine. 

‘You know the drill,’ said Buffaloman. ‘You remember your place as my personal come-dumpster, and I won’t have to say that you’re failing training sessions. One word from me and you’ll be back at the Hercules Factory . . . better make this good, whore. Get to work!’

‘I – I – I can’t . . . not again . . . p-please, I don’t –’

‘No one gives a shit what you want. You’re worth nothing, Mantaro. The only thing you’re good for is to be used and abused by the men that want you . . . you’re a walking sex-toy, nothing more than a fucking place to get a dick wet, and – if I weren’t so possessive of my toys – I’d rent you out so you’d be of actual use to society. Now . . . _suck my fucking dick_!’

Mantaro raised trembling hands to those shorts. He hooked his fingers beneath the elastic band, before pulling them slowly down over muscular thighs, and – when they finally reached ankles – Buffaloman kicked them high into the air, where they landed on his desk beside his phone. The erection sprang free. It was thick . . . _too thick_ . . . it was nothing like Mantaro or Chaos, instead something that would stretch his jaw to breaking point and fill his entire mouth. The thick vein on the underside throbbed in time to his heart, while the slit on the head wept with pre-come.

It always came out in spurts, like a constant wave of natural lubrication. The foreskin was soft and smooth, at odds with the hard and inflexible muscle beneath, and the length was just enough to constantly poke at the back of Mantaro’s mouth. Mantaro sniffed. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, while his eyes ran over heavy testicles and wiry pubic hairs. It was a sight that would have been erotic to many, but to him . . . he swayed where he knelt . . .

The bile and acid burned in his chest. It tasted bitter on his tongue. The tears were hot about his eyes, as he slowly extended his tongue and licked at the slit . . . _salty, but not as bitter as come . . ._ he ran it up and down, lapping at the liquid, before swirling it in circles. Buffaloman groaned and thrust forward. It was a good sign, enough that Mantaro licked a long line from the very base to the tip of the head. He repeated the gesture several times. He teased at the cock.

Mantaro kept his hands pressed against his thighs, as he assumed an obedient position that – from experience – was preferred and encouraged . . . _‘don’t use your hands, Junior, only your mouth’_. . . Mantaro opened his mouth wide. It took several attempts to keep it open, as it instinctively closed and his jaw trembled with the exertion, and he wrapped his lips over his teeth to prevent from any scratches . . . there would be no beatings today. He slowly slid his mouth over the cock and bobbed his head each time to the midway point. He suckled.

A tap at his head indicated that more was wanted. He paused. He drew in a long and deep breath, as his chest expanded and time stopped around them, and – with every ounce of courage he possessed – slowly forced his head down to the base, carefully stretching and relaxing his throat to accommodate the head. A disturbing scent of musky sweat and sex greeted him, as his throat constricted around the cock-head and coaxed out groans from Buffaloman.

‘Yeah, take it all, bitch.’

Rough hands scratched at his mask. They dug deep and left scratches on the fabric, while callused fingers alternated between clawing at his head and stroking at his neck. Mantaro continued his slow and deep breaths, as the bitter taste of pre-come flooded over his tongue. The cock twitched and the slit spurted liquid on each thrust. He screwed shut his eyes. Tears burned at the corners, where they mingled with sweat and stung enough to bring more.

The pace was slow, but his jaw ached. It started off a slow discomfort, only to grow to a searing pain fixated mainly at the joint, and it was all he could do to keep his mouth open, as his lips covered his teeth to prevent from scratches . . . scratches were bad. Buffaloman growled. A cold sweat ran over Mantaro. The fabric of his uniform clung to now wet flesh, as he picked up the pace and braced himself on thick and hairy thighs. He bobbed faster and faster, while slurps and suckles echoed about the office, and drool dripped onto the testicles below.

He flicked his tongue into the slit on every upward movement. It often brought Buffaloman to orgasm faster . . . _a few flung insults, a couple of slaps_ . . . he could be out of the stadium within the half-an-hour, minimal fuss. He ran his tongue under the head, while hollowing out his cheeks and forcing a half-hearted moan to send vibrations down the member. The vein on the underside throbbed in time with Buffaloman’s racing heartbeat. Mantaro drew in a shuddered breath.

‘Yeah, you like this, don’t you,’ laughed Buffaloman.

A tear rolled down Mantaro’s cheek.

‘You’re such a fucking come-slut. I knew it as soon as I saw you.’ Buffaloman licked his lips. ‘Yeah, you swallow your daddy’s dick. It feels good, doesn’t it? Yeah, just like that . . . do you do this with Chaos? Ha! I bet that would make a fucking hot sight, with you guzzling down his dick like a man starving for food. How’s he like it? Rough? Soft?’

Mantaro wept in earnest. The tears and mucus mingled with pre-come and sweat, while the wiry pubic hairs scratched at his chin and cheeks, and the smell . . . that acrid smell that seemed worse and worse every time . . . nausea swept over his stomach. How could he touch Chaos after this? How could he feel clean again? The tears distorted his vision, while his tuft of hair blocked his sight whenever his eyes moved upward. All he could see was the brown skin and curly hairs.

A second growl escaped Buffaloman . . . _deep, dangerous, dark_.

Buffaloman yanked at his hair. The searing pain drew out a high-pitched mewl from Mantaro, as a long line of pre-come and saliva linked his lips to the head of the swollen cock . . . it broke with a slight sparkle in the moonlight, were it fell down and stained his chin and chest. He panted for a breath. He locked eyes with Buffaloman, who stared at him with blown pupils and lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. Mantaro swayed. A rush of adrenaline coursed through every vein, as his mind grew dizzy and lights danced about his vision.

‘Answer me, Junior!’

A ringing slap struck him. The force of the back-handed blow sent his head hurtling to the side, where the stinging sensation ran over his skin and lingering with a burning bruise. He raised a trembling hand to his cheek. He touched. A sharp pain shot through every nerve, so that – with a flinch – a yelp escaped his throat . . . he mumbled and stuttered and a series of half-formed words tumbled from his mouth, as he sobbed through each and every sound. Buffaloman laughed. It reverberated around the office, echoing out with an ominous timbre and volume . . .

Buffaloman stood upright, before he shoved Mantaro downward. The tiled floor struck hard on his knees, with such force and pain that he nearly dropped onto all fours, but Buffaloman grabbed at his tuft of hair and held him upright, and – with a low moan – he slapped his erect cock over Mantaro’s cheeks. It was degrading. It was objectifying. The pre-come smeared against his skin, as he instinctively tried to pull away. Buffaloman spat out:

‘Fuck, you don’t wanna cooperate? Fine by me, bitch.’

A pair of fingers pried open Mantaro’s mouth. It hurt. He cried out around those fingers, before the cock was rammed deep through his lips, until his nose was pressed so much against the pubic hair that he struggled to breathe through now distorted nostrils. The head struck the back of his throat, so that in contracted until groans and grows flooded out into the room . . . _‘ugh, ugh, ah, ugh, so good’_. . . he retched and gagged and choked. Bile burned at the back of his throat.

The slapping of balls against his chin drowned out all other sounds. Mantaro struggled to inhale each time Buffaloman pulled out, while the force of the thrusts made him breathless, and Buffaloman seemed to take it as a sign of pleasure . . . _‘I knew you’d fucking like this’_. Mantaro lost track of time, as he sobbed and sniffed around the thrusting cock. The minutes felt like hours until – finally – Buffaloman pulled outward. Mantaro gulped down air with fast and heavy breaths, while pre-come and saliva were smeared over his cheeks . . . then it happened.

Buffaloman came.

The thick rope of come splashed over Mantaro’s face. It was warm and thick, something strange and foreign against his mask, and the white coating splashed into his eye with a painful sting, forcing him to squint and blink as he tried to regain his vision. He quickly opened his mouth. A few splashes caught inside his mouth, just how Buffaloman liked, and the come coated his tongue and collected at the front of his mouth, as he swirled it around and forced back vomit. It felt like an endless stream, with his face now covered and Buffaloman finally spent.

Mantaro knelt obediently on the floor, while Buffaloman fell back against the desk. He panted for breath, as his cock slowly deflated with a drizzle of come leaking from the slit, and – with an awkward fumbling – he snatched at his phone and took photographs of Mantaro. The light of the flash broke from the come-encrusted eye, until a beep revealed a recording in process, and Buffaloman growled low from the back of his throat, while patting Mantaro’s cheek.

‘You can swallow now, whore.’

He did not need to be told twice. Mantaro pressed his lips together and swallowed hard, wincing as the thick and stick liquid stuck in his oesophagus, and the bitter taste was beyond endurance, as he retched and heaved until he was forced to swallow back vomit. A few deep breaths allowed him to find strength to open his mouth again, as he proved everything was swallowed, and his hands ran over his clothed chest in the “seductive” way taught over the previous weeks. A broken and trembling smile was betrayed by tears and choked sobs. Mantaro whispered:

‘Thank you, Sir. May I have some more?’

The video clicked to a stop, as Buffaloman tucked himself away. He simply prayed this time he could wash off . . . no “extra” hand-jobs, no made to put on “shows” . . . the come would always dry, and – when it did – it would itch and flake and grow uncomfortable. Luckily, Buffaloman tossed a box of tissues at his feet, before throwing himself into the revolving office chair . . . _hiding underneath the desk, blowing him while he had meetings with students, forced to be still lest someone uncover his presence_. . . Mantaro pulled a tissue from the box.

He wiped down his face. It took all his energy to stand, while every brush against his cheek sent a raw jolt of pain through him . . . he dabbed as gently as he dared, while running through excuses to wash his mask and trade out for a fresh one, and hoped there was time for a long shower. He wanted to wash off the dirt . . . _violation, contamination_ . . . Mantaro shoved the tissue into his pocket, as if he had courage to use it as evidence. Buffaloman snarled out:

‘One of these days, I’m going to fuck that boy-pussy.’

Mantaro paled. Mantaro shivered.

‘But not tonight,’ spat Buffaloman. ‘Get out, you fucking slut.’


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, anyone home?”

It was cold. A draught blew from underneath the door. The curtains had yet to be drawn, while a fire had yet to be lit, and even the overhead lights were turned off, as if anyone had yet to return home, but in the darkness . . . in the quiet of the small shack . . . a sound could be heard. It was quiet. It was abrupt. It was the constant hiccups and sniffs of someone crying, but muffled as if fabric were held against their mouths or their lips were pressed tightly shut.

Chaos pressed on the light-switch. The light was harsh and strong, enough that he hissed and brought a hand to shield his eyes, and – after several long blinks – his vision adjusted, enough to see that the shack was in an almost showroom state. Every item was properly organised. Each surface shined to perfection. Chaos frowned, as he placed one hand on his hip. He scratched the back of his neck, as he tilted his head to the side, and his eyes raked over every corner of the shack, until – huddled behind the television – Mantaro finally came into sight.

He was hunched forward, with his arms wrapped around his legs. Mantaro rested his forehead against his knees, while his tuft of hair was in disarray, and he rocked back and forth with a strange rhythm, but without any sign of acknowledgment to Chaos. A cold weight dropped into Chaos’ stomach. He clutched at his abdomen, as his lips trembled. The sight brought back dark memories . . . cruel associations . . . _bitter tasting tears, the stench of blood_ . . . Chaos whispered:

“It’s not like you to clean, Mantaro.”

Chaos screwed shut his eyes, as he took in a deep breath. The screams faded off in his ears . . . _‘Mommy! Daddy!’, ‘Run, Chaos!’_. . . a loud bang struck his eardrums. He jumped. It was impossible to say whether it came from real-life or his waking nightmares, but he knew one thing for certain: Mantaro needed help. Chaos clicked closed the door, before locking it with a slide of the bolt, and slowly – with raised hands – crossed the room towards Mantaro.

He stopped a few feet away and knelt. He kept his hands upward. Mantaro continued to rock and sniff and mumble incoherent phrases, as if Chaos were a million miles away, and – with a sigh – Chaos crawled across the immaculate floors to sit beside him. The wall was cold and hard against his back; there was little comfort, as he spread his legs and rested his forearms on his knees. He cast his amber eyes upward, where a faint smile broke over his lips. The skin over his bare arms and chest broke into goose-bumps, as he shivered and choked out:

“You were my rock when my parents died.”

Mantaro sniffed.

“It was pretty rough,” continued Chaos. “It’s like – It’s like people assume the worst part is watching them die before my eyes, while they spent their last breaths trying to protect me . . . the guilt, the shame, the confusion . . . don’t get me wrong, it was damned traumatic. I’m just glad that Sister took me in, as I don’t think anyone else would have been able to help like her . . .

“I’m grateful to your dad, too. I don’t know if it was pity, seeing that I was the last survivor of my people and a prince just like you . . . maybe he saw you in me, because we were the same age, and maybe he knew he would’ve wanted someone to watch out for you like he did me. I loved the summers we spent together, and I loved watching wrestling on the television every Saturday morning, and I loved how – between King Suguru and Sister – I had a new life. Still . . .

“It gets to me sometimes how – how – . . . how _pointless_ their deaths were. We were always called the ‘Time Chojin’, thanks to some old superstition that if you broke our horns then you could travel through time, and – thanks to that belief – Lightning and Thunder slaughtered my people and took my parents from me, and what did it get them? Nothing. My parents died and absolutely nothing was achieved from it; they didn’t _need_ to die, they didn’t _need_ to –!

“I mean, I’m not trying to make it a case of ‘who has it worse’, like I’m trying to outdo you or something, but just . . . you helped me through my panic attacks, you helped me through the flashbacks, you helped train me from a boy into a man. You were there for me. You couldn’t fix the trauma, but you could help ease it . . . let me ease it a bit for you, okay?”

Chaos slowly reached a hand toward him. He flinched. A heavy weight fell about Chaos’ shoulders, as they slumped and his hand hung limply in the air, but – with a forced smile – he continued at an excruciatingly slow speed, until fingertips brushed against the blue fabric on Mantaro’s back. He let them rest for a few seconds. He flattened his palm. A slow stroking motion brought his arm around Mantaro, where he was able to squeeze against a muscular shoulder, and Chaos drew in a shuddered breath, before he choked out a broken:

“Will you tell me what’s got you so upset?”

It took some strength to pull Mantaro towards him. At first, he tensed and every muscle was solid to the touch, as if readying to run or fight, but then something changed . . . everything loosened, as Mantaro through his arms around Chaos. He clung tight, with his arms around a warm waist and face buried against the tight pectoral muscles. Chaos pressed a chaste kiss just beneath the fin on his mask. A sharp eye noted a bruise forming around Mantaro’s neck, one that could have been from a choke-hold, and Chaos bit his lip hard until he tasted iron.

“I thought you were cheating at first,” muttered Chaos.

Mantaro scoffed.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault!” Chaos blushed. “You would come home late stinking of sweat, while refusing to ever make eye-contact . . . you seemed _guilty_. I mean, you wouldn’t even _eat_ , and it’s not like you to not have an appetite. You would clean, too, which was super weird. You – ah – also went off . . . you know . . . _stuff_. Like I – I – I mean . . . it’s just . . . y-you . . .

“Anyway, I thought maybe it was me at first, because you used to crush over Rinko or Jacqueline so much, and maybe you were just away with someone that you liked more, but then I saw it one day . . . when you were sleeping. You were crying and tossing and turning, and it was just like when I have my nightmares, and after you were scared to be touched and went back to being all sad again. That’s when I knew it was something more serious. I knew it.”

A shadow moved past the window. Chaos sighed and struggled to stretch towards the curtain, where – with a harsh tug – he managed to throw it midway across, just enough that any potential passersby would be unable to see them in the corner, even if the rest of the room was visible. He ran his free hand over Mantaro’s scalp and neck, with slow and soothing touches, as the sniffing finally stopped and the tears seemed to dry, and – letting out a broken breath – Chaos brushed the back of his knuckles against the red mark on pale skin. He choked out:

“Is someone hurting you, Mantaro?”

Mantaro tensed again, but quickly unclenched his muscles. He let go of Chaos, before he slowly slid downward into a foetal position, and rested his head on Chaos’ lap, so that Chaos could brush his fingers through his tuft of hair in an intimate fashion. The bruise was more visible at such an angle, enough that it was clear a hand had come at Mantaro from face-on, and that meant an illegal move within the ring or abuse from outside of the ring.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through Chaos. The fast beating of his heart drowned out all other sounds, while Chaos quietly lifted his hands away from Mantaro, and – as they clenched – the knuckles turned white and crescent-shaped cuts appeared on the palm. He gritted his teeth and pursed his lips into a fine line. Mantaro shifted. A cold rush ran through Chaos, who jumped at being forced back to the moment. He dropped his hand and brushed his thumb in loose circles, while the warmth of his palm rested against Mantaro’s shoulder, avoiding the neck.

“Are you being bullied by a New Generation member?” Chaos asked. “It can’t be a Legend, right? I mean, those guys love you . . . Ramenman was your mentor, Terryman thinks of you like a second son . . . it just seems odd. Can – Can you tell me what’s wrong? I feel so helpless. I just want to be able to make it better like you made me feel better . . . no one should hurt you.”

Mantaro remained silent.

“Meat is starting to worry, Mantaro! If you keep up like this, I think he’s going to call a doctor or demand that Robin Mask start some sort of investigation . . . he might even need to tell your _father_ , Mantaro. Look, you don’t have to say anything until you’re ready, but . . .”

Mantaro was still soaked in a sweat. It caused his uniform to cling to him like a second skin, while his chest slowly rose in a rhythmic pattern to his slowing breaths, and his mouth – partly open – started to drool a little with oncoming sleep, bringing a smile to Chaos. The blue eyes fluttered closed, while the hand on his thigh loosened its grip. A drizzle of rain on the windowpane echoed about the room, as it let loose a soothing sound reminiscent of childhood camping trips in the palace gardens as small boys. Chaos said in a quiet voice:

“Just think about it, okay?”

The sound of the rain mixed with Mantaro’s slowing breaths. Chaos waited. He eventually took Mantaro’s arm and lifted it a few inches above that seemingly sleeping face, and – when he let go – smiled at how it fell onto his cheek with a small slapping noise . . . Mantaro didn’t even flinch . . . he was definitely asleep. Chaos carefully slid his arms beneath Mantaro, before lifting him up into a bridal-style hold, and carried him over to the futon.

It took some effort to kneel on the floor, as Mantaro as a dead-weight while asleep, but – with care – Chaos guided him down onto the futon upon the floorboards, before carefully undressing him down to his underwear. There was another bruise on his hipbone. He winced. Chaos slowly pulled the blankets high to Mantaro’s chin, and tucked him in with slow and gentle movements of his hand, before placing a chaste kiss to his forehead. The tune of an old lullaby tumbled from his lips, one once sung to him by his mother. He remained at Mantaro’s side until it ended.

The final note died on his lips. He slowly stood and crossed over to the curtains, which he pulled closed, and – after lighting the fires and heating some food – sneaked outside through the front door, while fumbling in his pocket for his phone. The screen lit up in the darkness. A photograph of Mantaro and Chaos filled the screen, both arm in arm after a tag-battle, and a smile brought a sparkle to his eyes, as he quickly dialled an all-too-familiar number. A voice answered:

_‘What do you want?’_

“Hey, Rinko, can we talk?”

 _‘Er, sure, I guess?’_ Rinko yawned. _‘I figured talking would be awkward since we broke up, and – you know – since you dumped me like a total bastard for my best friend, you giant geek! But – hey – who’s holding grudges? I said we could still be friends with time, and . . . I guess it has been a while, so – okay – I’ll listen to what you have to say. I’m still pissed, though.’_

“I – I’m sorry, Rinko. I – I wouldn’t have rang, but it’s –”

_‘Important? It better be, Chaos.’_

“It’s about Mantaro.”

Rinko fell silent. He shuffled from foot to foot. The only thing stronger than a grudge was friendship, and there was no denying that the friendship between Rinko and Mantaro overcame all else and would stand the tests of time. A shuffling noise came from the other end of the phone, like sheets sliding against skin. A click indicated a light-switch. Chaos toyed with his belt, while toying with his lips and gnawing at the skin on the inside of his cheek, when – finally – a loud sigh indicated speech was surely to follow. He struggled to slow his racing heart.

 _‘I’m listening,’_ said Rinko.

“He keeps coming home with bruises and cuts.” Chaos ran a hand over his face. “Not from training, either. I’ve been keeping track with Kid and Seiuchin, plus he won’t eat and he won’t sleep and I came to visit him today after finishing the chores Sister set -? He won’t _speak_. I found him crying alone in the corner of the room! He was just . . . _rocking_.”

 _‘How long has this been happening?_ ’

“I guess it started six weeks ago? He started seemingly a bit depressed, but it only really got bad around four weeks ago . . . this is the first time I’ve seen him this bad, though. He was like disassociating? I never want to see him like that again . . . mute, rocking, crying . . .”

Rinko swore. It was loud and cold. There was a quick succession of sounds . . . _drawers slamming, clothes rustling, a window creaking open_ . . . Chaos opened his mouth to speak, but spotted Meat walking at a slow pace through the park. He carried two huge and heavy bags filled with shopping, but – on seeing Chaos pale and serious – dropped his head and seemingly muttered ‘not again’ before he raced over and stopped beside Chaos. Chaos raised a finger to signal for silence, as Meat nodded and slipped inside the shack. Rinko finally snapped:

_‘I’ll be right over. We’ll talk about it in person, okay?’_

Tears pricked at his eyes. He dropped to his knees. The rush of emotion expelled itself in broken sobbing, even as a trembling smile pulled at his features, and he clutched the phone in both hands, while he collapsed back against the front door. The bright Tokyo lights blocked out the sight of the stars above, but still he turned his head upwards and laughed. He wiped at his nose with his fingerless gloves, before finding enough strength to choke out:

“Thanks, Rinko.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jacqueline smiled.

The _teriyaki_ still steamed in its porcelain bowl. It was a delicious aroma, one that permeated every inch of the shack, and her mouth watered in response, as Meat placed the meal onto the _kotatsu_ with a soft series of clinks and clatters. A cup of green tea sat just to the side, with _daifuki_ just beside and made fresh by hand. It likely took Meat hours to create such a delicious array of goods, and the smile on his lips was one that spoke of pure pride.

Jacqueline sat beside Mantaro, as she handed him a pair of chopsticks. He took them. It was an obedient and heavy gesture, with the sluggishness of a reluctant man, and – as soon as he held them – his hand dropped with a thud onto the tabletop. The contents rattled. Jacqueline placed a hand on his back, but the muscles tensed and he drew in a quick intake of breath. The hand fell slowly away, before Mantaro finally picked and prodded at his food, while his canine teeth gnawed at his lips and his head tilted from side to side. Meat sat opposite them.

“Come on, Junior,” said Meat. “It’s all your favourites!”

“Yeah, thank you,” murmured Mantaro.

“You’re not still feeling down, are you?” Meat fidgeted with his fingers. “If you eat up, you can always go join Rinko and Chaos outside. They came all this way just to see you, kid! Why not go on a double-date? I hear that there’s a new skating rink nearby, which could be a load of fun, and it’d take your mind off whatever’s going on . . . lots of music, lots of fancy lights . . .”

“We could get some soda and fries to share,” said Jacqueline.

“See, you hear that? They have food, too! I hear it’s all American, too, so you could always invite Kid . . . you know how you two bicker; I bet it’d be amusing to see how he reacts, because he’s always so sensitive about how American cooking needs to be ‘right’.”

“Yeah, you always like to tease each other. It’ll be fun.”

“They have vegetarian for Gazelle, too!”

Mantaro half-smiled and muttered a ‘cool’. He quickly scooped up some of the beef, before ramming it into his mouth and filling it to bursting point, and – when Jacqueline opened her lips to ask a question – he pointed to his mouth and bowl, spitting a little as he tried to force out a ‘sorry’ and returned to digging into his meal. There was no point in trying to further conversation. A low sigh turned into a long groan, as she slowly climbed to her feet and stretched. Jacqueline purposely threw her arms behind her back, jutting out her ample chest . . . no reaction.

He failed to so much as look or blush. He failed to even chastise her with a ‘dude, I’m taken’. He simply kept his eyes locked on his food, while Meat rose in turn and walked her to the front door, where muttered voices could be heard in argument outside. He signalled for her to kneel at the last second, where he leaned close to her and used his hand to shield his mouth, and – as he whispered – Mantaro continued to pick at his food, while no longer eating the rest.

“I’m out of ideas,” lamented Meat.

Jacqueline chewed at her inner cheek. Mantaro was a little thinner in the face, and his body was covered with an obscene amount of layers, as if fighting off the cold in the dead of winter. It brought her a step forward, but she stopped . . . _if words didn’t reach him, actions wouldn’t_. . . if it were anyone else, she may have shaken them or slapped them or even kissed them. The racing of her heart kept pounded in her ears, as she hopped from foot to foot.

“I know what you mean,” she whispered. “I’ve never felt helpless before! I – I know it sounds a spoiled, but Ikemen and Father always doted on me . . . most men would bend over backward to do anything I asked, as soon as I batted at eyelash, and I rarely ever heard ‘no’. I just want to say to Mantaro ‘feel better’ and have him feel better, but . . . it doesn’t work like that.”

“Yeah, I’m his trainer . . . it’s my job to fix any problems, get him back on the right path, and make sure all his needs have been sorted, but -? I don’t know. I feel useless, like I can’t do my job as his friend and second. I don’t even know what I can do anymore.”

“I’ll – I’ll speak to Chaos and Rinko, but you might have to –”

“Speak to Suguru and Ikemen? Yeah, I know . . .”

They fell silent. Jacqueline slowly rose to full height, as she cricked her neck. The shack was in perfect condition, spotless to a fault, and Mantaro remained seated at the table, where he strategically squished his food to the side of the bowl, giving the illusion of some being eaten. Meat patted her leg, before he headed back to the table. He sat opposite Mantaro with a big smile, while gesticulating wildly and forcing small talk, but Mantaro would only half-smile back with non-committal sounds of acknowledgement. Jacqueline swallowed hard and choked out:

“I’ll be right back, Mantaro!”

He said nothing, even as she clicked down the door-handle. The cool air blew through the warm shack, as she quickly contorted herself around the door barely opened more than a few inches, and – with one last look to Mantaro – she slipped outside and closed the door behind her with a quiet thud. A sigh fell from her lips. Jacqueline dropped her shoulders and pressed her forehead to the wood, while she half-closed her eyes and blinked back the tears.

A low cough came from behind. Jacqueline swung herself around, as she clasped her hands behind her neck and angled her head towards the source, and saw Rinko and Chaos sitting on the swings, both with serious and dark expressions. They swung with in a slow and lazy rhythm, while the breeze caught at their hair and clothes and kicked at the dirt about their feet. Jacqueline walked towards them with boots dragging against the ground, as she looked back one last time to the shack, and stopped just to the side of Rinko, where she leaned against the frame.

“He’s still not eating much,” said Jacqueline.

Chaos winced. The swing came to a halt. He kicked at the ground with the tips of his shoes, much in a way that betrayed his age and reminded her of his youth, and his amber eyes stared down at the ground, as dust-clouds coloured the bottom of his trousers. Rinko groaned and threw back her head, as she pushed a little harder. The constant back-and-forth movement was a welcome distraction, like the metronome upon a piano. Chaos broke the silence to choke out:

“Did he talk to you?”

“No.” Jacqueline winced. “I’m worried, Chaos. I know he sulked for a while after he lost the finals, but it was nothing like this . . . this is the kind of sadness that could be depression. My – My brother had it bad once . . . used to hurt himself . . . I think we found him a good therapist and a doctor, but – aside from one relapse – he’s been fine ever since.”

“Can you really be ‘fine’?” Rinko asked. “Like, isn’t it something you can cope with, but it’s always there in the background? Plus, if this is depression, how’s that even work? Can it just appear without warning like this? Doesn’t there have to be a reason?”

“There is a reason,” snapped Chaos. “Someone is hurting him!”

“We don’t _know_ that, though, right? I’m just saying that Jacqui could have a point. I don’t know, though, but I just know . . . I just know you still get panic attacks about your parents, and Seiuchin still gets sad about his dad . . . I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to grieve, ‘cause Manta is gone and we could’ve done something. I think we need to tell someone.”

Chaos stood. The swing rocked behind him, as he kept his head low and hands clenched. The veins along his arms stood thick as ropes, while his nostrils flared with every breath, and a twitch to his eyebrow made Jacqueline take a step backwards. A tear pricked at his eye. He turned towards her, before he sniffed and his lip trembled. Jacqueline ran towards him. The world stopped around them, as her arm through themselves around his shoulders, and at once he held back and buried his face against her neck. He choked out through barely restrained breaths:

“I don’t think he wants people to worry.”

The manicured fingers of her hand ran through his hair. Chaos took in irregular and shallow breaths, as if fighting off the urge to cry, and Jacqueline hushed him much as her mother did in her youth, with the same soft sounds and half-hummed tune. He soon relaxed in her hold, while she brought a hand down to his back and rubbed in circles. Jacqueline cast an eye to Rinko. A few lines broke over Rinko’s brow, as she pouted and stared at a far and fixed point away from the two of them. There were tears adding a shimmer to her eyes in turn.

“I don’t think it matters what he _wants_ at this point,” said Jacqueline. “The only thing that matters is what he _needs_ , Chaos. I don’t know what he’s like with you, but at work -? He’s slacking off worse than back when he first graduated. My brother is talking about forcing him to redo training at the Hercules Factory! It’s like he’s doing all he can to avoid training.”

“And he’d been so focussed lately, too,” muttered Rinko.

“He was doing great! He’s the _sole_ reason why Chaos went from a ‘boy’ into a ‘man’, and he could easily be one of the world’s greatest wrestlers, all thanks to Manta! So why is he now the last one to turn up and the last one to leave? What’s up with that?”

“Chaos thinks he’s being bullied.” Rinko rubbed at her nose. “The thing is that I spoke to Kevin and Mars, and I made it clear that if _anything_ hurt Mantaro, even if it was just a paper-cut, that I’d kick their asses. They promised me they’d keep an eye out on him. According to them, no one has even said so much as a mean word. He’s been treated pretty good.”

“So something’s wrong!” Chaos cried. “Mantaro is everything to me! Why doesn’t anyone get that? I was six when my parents were killed . . . I spent every summer after that with his family, and when Sister said I was old enough to join the Muscle League, he trained me and befriended me and taught me what it meant to be a _chojin_ . . . I can’t let him down now. He helped me, so I owe it to him to help him. How can I make it better? What am I meant to do?”

Jacqueline looked over to Rinko. They locked gazes. Chaos continued to hold onto her waist, while he sniffed and sobbed, but soon – with a trembling smile – he pulled away with tears threatening to spill from his bright and beautiful eyes. He rubbed at his nose, before kicking at the dirt, and paced back and forth before the swings. Rinko slowly stood from her swing, where she smoothed her skirts and walked over to his side, and her hand hesitated somewhere in the air between them, before – with a groan that verged on a growl – she patted him on the back.

“Okay,” said Rinko. “What about talking to Robin Mask?”

Chaos raised an eyebrow. He looked her over, while she continued to awkwardly pat him . . . _tears at the painful break-up, first loves lost for another, friendship teetering to animosity_. . . the history between them was brutal, but they remained held together by a mutual love for Mantaro. It brought a faint smile to Jacqueline, as she stroked at his upper arm and nodded to him. He nodded back. They stood together like any teenagers, like any friends . . . it was only the shack not far from them that darkened the mood. Chaos choked out in a low voice:

“Wouldn’t he tell Mantaro’s dad?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so.” Jacqueline furrowed her brow. “I know that my father talks with Mayumi sometimes. They have this story that they love to tell, about how Kinnikuman was arrested alongside Buffaloman, Warsman, and Terryman . . . just kids being kids, but all of them knew Robin would help them out, as he was the veteran and the hero and the role-model.

“Granted, he had his moments. He was sometimes more Brutal than the Brutal Chojin, but he also had the most growth and saved the most people . . . even now, everyone looks up to him and respects him. It was why – when Kinnikuman was chosen to be king – only he and Terryman were given the highest rights and responsibilities. He’s headmaster for a reason, Chaos. I don’t think he’d tell anyone anything, not until he had all the facts and had a solid plan.”

“You should tell Ramenman instead,” said Rinko. “I mean, Robin’s great and all, but let’s not forget that he hit Queen Bibimba, left Alisa for like two years, and pushed Kevin into being what he is today . . . dude’s hardly like a beacon of ‘justice’, is he? Chaos has a total hard-on for justice, so I’d go with someone willing to kick ass to whomever hurt Mantaro.”

“And I think it’s better to _stop_ him being hurt again.”

“I doubt whoever hurt him would hurt him again with no teeth.”

A sharp glare was thrown from Rinko. Jacqueline matched it in intensity. The two pouted and held their gazes, until – with loud sighs – both looked away with folded arms and blushes, before Chaos chuckled and whispered: _‘you guys are so adorable when you fight’_. Jacqueline brushed a stray lock of blond hair from Rinko’s cheek. The blush to her tanned cheeks darkened, as Rinko muttered a ‘stupid’, and the two laughed together, before sharing a quick and chaste kiss. For their opposing views, they were united when it counted. Chaos asked:

“So you both think he’s being hurt?”

Jacqueline pulled away from both of them, as she wrapped her arms around her stomach. The breeze caught at her hair, as she turned just enough to keep the shack in her sights, and Jacqueline gnawed and licked at her lips, as she fought back half-spoken words. Rinko took Chaos’ hand in her peripheral vision. It was a gentle hold, as she held it clasped between them, and her eyes sparkled with the same unshed tears shared between them, while they listened to the sounds of Tokyo life all around them. A car beeped its horn. A child laughed from afar.

“I think you need to talk to a grown up,” said Rinko.

“I’d say the same thing,” added Jacqueline. “I think Meat is two seconds away from telling Kinnikuman; that’ll just make things ten times worse, because you know what Manta is like, Chaos. He’ll just think he’s worrying everyone and that he needs to be strong for them, and he’ll hide what he’s feeling all the more and just turn it further inward. That’s not good.”

“Yeah, telling Kinnikuman needs to be a last resort, or – well – at least for when we know _what’s_ going on so that he can at least fix it . . . just speak to Robin or Ramenman first, because we need some advice and they’ll sort everything, I bet. You should tell them.”

“Do you need one of us to go with you?”

Chaos drew in a deep and staggered breath. He raised his hands to his mouth, where they tented in front his lips and aided in each and every intake, and he took a slow step back from them, before he shook his head and paced back and forth. Jacqueline bit into her lip, but – before she could utter a sound – he spun around with a bright smile. He scratched at his neck. The amber of his eyes was hidden, as he half-closed his eyes, and he hopped from foot to foot, while Rinko reached out to him once more. He pulled away. Rinko let her hand linger.

“I – I think I’ll be okay,” said Chaos.

He dove towards them both, as he hugged them in turn. Jacqueline pressed a soft kiss to his blond locks, while holding his face in both her hands, and – forcing him to look her in the eyes – she forced a smile and slowly nodded. He nodded back. Chaos was ready to run . . . ready to head to the stadium and speak to Ramenman or Robin Mask . . . Jacqueline blinked back tears, as both glanced to the shack and swallowed back their emotions, as she gasped:

“Let us know what they have to say?”

“I promise,” swore Chaos.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit Non-Con

_Chaos knocked._

_A loud ‘come in’ echoed out. He turned his head along the hallway, where a variety of offices lined either side of the walls . . ._ teachers, accountants, board members . . . _the double-doors at the far end marked the luxury suite that belonged to the chairman. The doorknob turned slowly in his hand, as he slowly entered the office and closed the door behind him. It was warm inside the small room. A scent of sweat lingered in the air, as if from heavy training. Chaos asked:_

_‘Sorry, but Ikemen said that Robin Mask was busy?’_

_The leather chair spun around. Buffaloman smiled. He leaned forward with his hands clasped before him, while his chin rested on them, and there was an aura of a businessman, almost like one would see in the cartoons or old shows he grew up watching in his youth. Chaos shifted from foot to foot, as his eyes fell about the room. There was a distinct lack of personal photographs, or private collections, or expensive ornaments. The other teachers always used their rooms as an expression of self, but the office was barren and sterile. Buffaloman said in a low voice:_

_‘Yeah, he’s got a bunch of meetings.’_

_‘They said Ramenman was busy, too. He’s training some new recruits.’_

_Buffaloman sighed. He gently pushed back the office chair, as he came around his desk and stood just a few feet from Chaos. There was a small stain on the tiles . . . it was silvery, like spilled paint or drink, but not quite . . . Buffaloman snatched at his chin. He forced Chaos to lock gazes with him, while he forced a smile that failed to reach his eyes. The finger was callused. It was rough against his soft skin, but it also aggravated his flesh as it rubbed in a strange circular pattern . . . it was too intimate, too familiar . . . Chaos yanked his head away._

_‘What’s wrong, Chaos?’_

_A gruff scoff escaped Buffaloman, as his eyes widened for a brief second. Chaos flared his nostrils. He narrowed his gaze. Buffaloman slowly looked him over, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, and – with a long exhale of breath – waved a hand absently in the air and returned to his seat. He plopped down with great force, which brought a squeak from the bolts. A strange quiet fell between them, as Chaos made a show of rubbing at his chin._

_‘We – We think someone’s hurting Mantaro,’ muttered Chaos. ‘He’s really depressed lately, and he won’t eat or drink or hang out . . . he’s got these bruises, too, like someone tried to choke him or something, and I’m scared, Sir! Can – Can I talk to you about it? Please?’_

_‘Of course you can talk to me, son.’_

_Buffaloman hummed. He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. There was something about him . . . something not quite right . . . Chaos turned to look back to the door, as he bit into his lip and cricked his neck. It would not be long until Robin Mask finished his meeting, but Mantaro was in so much pain . . . a clock ticked on a mantelpiece . . . the second hand smashed through the silence and eradicated all other sound. Buffaloman said softly:_

_‘Now tell your teacher all about it . . .’_

* * *

“Who else did you fucking tell?”

A fist collided with his cheek. The pain was sharp. It lingered with a spreading heat, as if the flesh beneath his skin was aflame, and it spread fast and wide and deep. He raised a trembling hand to touch at his mask, but – pulling back his trembling digits – he saw no blood . . . _nothing_ . . . Mantaro sniffed. He pushed himself into a sitting position, as he dropped his back against the bookcase and stretched out his legs along the tiles.

He stared ahead, while Buffaloman paced. A paperweight bounced in his hand, where thick veins stood out like ropes on his tensed forearm, and Mantaro watched . . . waited . . . inside his chest, his heart raced until his vision started to dance with coloured lights. Buffaloman stopped. He turned towards the bookcase, as his lips curled back and exposed his sharp canine, and – with a roaring scream that made Mantaro wince – he tossed the paperweight. It smashed against the bookcase just above Mantaro’s head, where it broke into two pieces.

It dislodged a handful of books, which tumbled down onto his head. Mantaro lifted his arms to cover himself, while the sharp shard of the paperweight caught against his arm. It drew blood. A red line broke over his pale flesh, as a sharp sting ran through his nerves like a paper-cut, and the sight of blood outside of battle made his head light . . . he swayed even where he sat, while his mouth ran dry and sweat broke over his back. Buffaloman darted forward and screamed:

“Hey! _Who else_?”

He grabbed at Mantaro’s shirt. Mantaro was hoisted up onto his feet, as his boots struggled to gain purchase against the tiles, and – lifted ever higher – he hooked his heels onto a shelf and clutched at those huge wrists pressed against his chest. Every breath was ragged and choked, as his lungs burned and saliva pooled at the back of his throat. The bile soared upward. He was choking and vomiting at the same time, a horrible mixture of sensations. He was lowered. 

Buffaloman dropped him into a standing position, allowing him to gulp down huge breaths, and Mantaro rubbed at his throat and chest, as he threw back his head and half-closed his eyes. A hand slammed against the shelf to the side of his head, rattling the books and bouncing the shelf against the back of his skull, and Buffaloman leaned closer . . . _closer_ . . . close enough that the warm and moist breath could be tasted. He screwed up his face, while he choked down on the bile. He retched. Buffaloman forced his head upright and whispered in his ear:

“You tell me now who you fucking told or else I’ll –”

“I – I didn’t tell anyone,” Mantaro sobbed. “I promise! You – You – You said to say nothing, so I said nothing . . . p-please, I can make it up to you! I – I – I didn’t – I didn’t know that Chaos w-was going to say anything . . . I can blow you, Sir! I’ll – I’ll make it good . . . I’ll even t-touch myself and talk dirty and do it just how you like it. Just – Just . . . _I’m sorry_.”

Mantaro dropped to his knees. He rushed forward to fumble with the shorts. It was difficult to get a grip as his hands grew numb . . . pins-and-needles rushed through the fingertips, while they seemed to close of their own accord, and every tremble looked exaggerated . . . it took several attempts to get the shorts over the half-erect member. He yanked them down. Buffaloman growled and kicked them across the floor, while mucus ran down Mantaro’s face onto convulsing lips. Mantaro drew in several deep breaths and opened his mouth.

Buffaloman grabbed at his hair.

The head was yanked back, as Mantaro was forced to stand. He made to dive back down, but Buffaloman slammed him hard against the bookcase, and held him fast by the shoulders, with his nails digging in so deeply that they left imprints through his shirt. The erection was hardening, lengthening . . . the weeping tip brushed against his thigh. It smeared pre-come on his trousers. A sickening wave of nausea climbed through his chest, as Mantaro instinctively moved his leg away from the touch, but Buffaloman pushed between them . . . parted them . . .

Mantaro mumbled over and over a simple mantra . . . _‘no, no, no’_ . . . he shook his head, while the hot erection rubbed against his flaccid member. He pushed weakly against Buffaloman’s chest, only for a sharp pair of teeth to bite into his neck. The pain sliced through his flesh. He yelped and dropped his hands to his side, while panting through the sustained pressure, and – once the bite was loosened – a few beads of blood welled up where the canines pressed.

“How does he know you’re being hurt?”

“I – I don’t know,” muttered Mantaro.

“Yeah? Well, if you’re not into this, maybe I should ask Chaos.” Buffaloman laughed. “He ain’t my usual type . . . too up himself and too aggressive . . . I don’t want a split lip just to get my dick wet, but – hey – if _you_ ’ _ve_ change your mind -? Is that what you’re saying, Junior? Are you really volunteering your boyfriend to be fucked by your teacher? Is that it?”

“N-No! No, o-of course not! I – I don’t . . . I wouldn’t . . .”

“Hmm, so why don’t you prove it? I’m sad, Junior . . . I’m sad that you’d tell someone, right after I told you to say nothing. Aww, my favourite student doesn’t seem to want me any more . . . wants it to stop . . . well, that’s a problem, isn’t it? It makes me feel unwanted.”

“I – I – . . . I mean, I don’t not want it? I just – I don’t . . .”

“It’s you or Chaos, Junior . . .”

 _The world stopped_. Mantaro fell faint, with his vision white and mind dizzy . . . only Buffaloman’s rough hands kept him upright, as his head lolled and a cold rush of adrenaline shot through every vein, as if iced water were slowly poured over him. He thought back to Chaos . . . _sneaked kisses in the dressing room, lingering embraces after matches . . . cuddling after nightmares, falling asleep to shared stories, laughter over meals_. . . tears spilled.

He forced a smile. It was broken and trembled. Mantaro slowly raised a shaking hand to Buffaloman’s cheek, where he stroked at the stubble on tanned skin, and – leaning close – he lightly pressed his lips to Buffaloman’s waiting mouth. The brief touch was almost intimate . . . a lingering parting of lips, a shared sigh of breath . . . Buffaloman pushed back into the kiss, stealing another with the familiar sound of smacking lips. Mantaro winced. The sound returned . . . continuous, fast, obscene . . . Mantaro pulled back enough to gasp a few words.

“It’s – It’s me,” whispered Mantaro.

“Perfect,” said Buffaloman.

The kiss returned with full force, as a tongue was forced into his mouth. A sharp taste of alcohol and tobacco soured the kiss, while constant slurping sounds and bites to his lips broke any potential pleasure and grounded Mantaro all too painfully in the moment, and saliva covered his chin and cheeks, as Buffaloman sought to devour him. He flared his nostrils. He closed his eyes. He returned the kiss as much as possible, while his cold hands remained pressed against the stubble of the cheeks, and a forced moan escaped his throat. Buffaloman growled out:

“If you really want me, you’ll bend over that desk.”

 _Mantaro fainted._ The world was there one moment, but gone the next. It was as if all blood was drawn from his body, as his vision burst into coloured patterns akin to a migraine, and his throat contracted with painful retches, as bile burned at the back of his mouth. He came around to find his arms thrown over broad shoulders, while callused hands fumbled and fixated upon his belt. A sharp tug yanked his waist forward, as a sliding noise followed as belt was yanked through the hoops of his trousers, and Mantaro stiffened in anticipation of what was to follow . . .

The belt dropped.

There was no tying together his wrists. There were no harsh blows to his buttocks. It was simply allowed to drop to the floor, while Buffaloman pushed down his trousers to mid-thigh, and – with a chill – Mantaro’s member and buttocks were fully exposed . . . the soft tuft of pubic hair, the above-average length . . . Buffaloman saw everything. _Shame_. Mantaro blushed beneath his mask, while tears spilled down his cheeks, and Buffaloman stepped back, so that his eyes had room to rake over the exposed flesh. He licked his lips. Mantaro swayed.

“I – I can’t,” choked Mantaro. “I haven’t –”

“That’s why it’s so special,” murmured Buffaloman. “I get to be your first. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’re such a good little whore . . . you can deep-throat, put on a good show . . . _yeah_ , I bet it’ll feel great down there; nice and tight. It’ll feel so good . . .”

“P-Please, I – I’ll do anything, but just not –”

“ _Bend over the fucking desk_!”

Mantaro raced to the desk. He tripped over his feet and stumbled, as his trousers impeded his movement and reduced the size of his gait. Mantaro fell at the last second, where he crashed against the desktop and landed flat against the leather-clad wood, and – as all breath left him – his buttocks were fully exposed to the cold air and colder gaze. The familiar phone sat not far from his hand . . . his finger twitched, his blue eyes fell on the silver case . . . Mantaro’s hand slowly inched towards the device, only for it to be snatched away at the last second.

A loud ‘ _uh-uh’_ echoed about the room, followed by a bout of laughter. Mantaro dropped his head with a thud against the desk, while fingers fumbled with the back of his mask, and the strings were slowly loosened, allowing his mask to be pulled upward . . . slowly, carefully . . . it exposed is mouth and nose. A few flashes of light denoted photographs being taken. Mantaro fell limp . . . broken . . . the muscles in his legs weakened, as the desk kept his splayed body in position.

“It’s you or Chaos, bitch,” spat Buffaloman.

Buffaloman stood behind him. Two hands grabbed at his buttocks, where they rubbed and massaged and squeezed at his cheeks, and an index finger brushed lightly against his winking hole . . . Mantaro squealed. He clawed at the desk and arched his back. A chuckle behind him preceded a teasing _‘figured you’d be down to fuck, whore’_. The finger pressed. The pad seemed to press inside and yet stayed outside, in a strange half-in and half-out situation.

It moved in loose circles, until – slowly – something started to happen . . . Buffaloman dropped his phone onto its side just a foot or so from Mantaro’s face, where it continued to film his expressions and sounds and gestures. The shirt was pushed high, until it bunched around his underarms and exposed his now erect nipples against the desktop. It left him vulnerable . . . restricted . . . nothing like the nights lying naked next to an equally exposed Chaos, both hidden beneath blankets, as they giggled and tried to keep the noise from waking the servants . . .

Buffaloman trailed kisses down his spine. He slid his hands upwards, while his lips pressed gentle and affectionate kisses to his soft skin. The fingertips stopped once they reached hard nipples, and – with a firm yet careful hold – they rolled the nubs in circles, while alternating with fast and hard flicking motions. It sent jolts of electricity through his prone form. The flickering against them had his anus opening and closing in a rhythmic motion, as he panted and gasped.

“Yeah, your fucking boy-cunt is so wet . . . it’s dripping . . .”

The natural lubrication betrayed him, as he cursed his chojin nature. He clenched his hole. The fingers continued to play with his nipples, even as a face pushed its way between his plump and firm cheeks, and a cool draught brushed against his skin, as Buffaloman drew in a deep breath. It was almost as if he were _sniffing_ Mantaro. The plump lips wrapped around his hole, while a tongue lightly darted around the rim in lazy and slow circles. Mantaro mewled.

A tear rolled down his cheek, as arousal broke across his body. The tongue slid deep inside his hole, with obscene slurps and moans and spitting motions . . . the inner walls contracted, natural lubrication increased . . . it was such a strange sensation. It was hot and wet and soft inside him, like something with its own life-force and purpose, and his body squirmed around it . . . desiring more, even as his mind screamed at him to fight back. The arousal brought his member to attention, as it throbbed in time with his racing heart and bounced against his abdomen.

“ _Shit_!” Buffaloman pulled back and gasped. “You taste so good! This is why you gotta do this with a _chojin_ guy . . . no preparation, no sour taste . . . it’s like fucking drinking nectar from the gods, and you -? You fucking _like_ it! You fucking _want_ me screwing your pussy.”

“N-No, I – I – I don’t! I c-can’t help it. I didn’t m-mean –”

“Oh, you really are a total come-dumpster! You were just _made_ to take cock in any and every hole, and look at you . . . clawing at the table, thrusting back as I eat you out . . . _yeah_ . . . fucking ace, Junior. Do you get this wild with Chaos? Do you let him pound that pussy until you can’t walk the next day? Or is this an honour just for me?. . . Fuck, I gotta see your face.”

Mantaro rolled onto his back. The hands that moved him were rough, jerking him into the right position so that that his buttocks just hung off the edge, and his arms were moved above his head, even as his body went limp and his limbs hung like the dead weight of a corpse. The erect nipples and flat stomach were exposed to hungry eyes, while his penis stood erect and dripping pre-come onto his pale skin . . . his body betrayed him . . . this was something only Chaos ever saw, only Chaos ever held, only Chaos ever experienced . . . now it belonged to Buffaloman.

Tears ran down into his hairline, as his bared lips trembled and pursed. He barely saw the world around him, as his bunched mask obscured his vision, and he laughed . . . _he laughed_ . . . it was a terrible and hollow sound, something alien, something broken . . . Mantaro continued to lie limp and lifeless with his body exposed, as Buffaloman pulled off the rest of his trousers. They were tossed across the room, along with his boots, as Buffaloman spread his legs . . .

“ _Shit_ , I gotta get a better picture of this,” muttered Buffaloman.

A clattering noise spoke of the camera being lifted. It was aimed at Mantaro’s body, where it captured perfectly his half-exposed face and bare chest and visible erection . . . the sweat on his body dripped down, while leaving stains on the scrunched shirt above his nipples . . . bruises marked every inch of skin. Buffaloman growled and took a hand of his length. He angled it towards Mantaro’s hole, while awkwardly nudging one of Mantaro’s legs onto his shoulder.

It allowed for easier access, as he slowly edged the head to the hole. The audible zooming-in sound made it clear he was going to focus on the moment of penetration . . . _the loss of virginity_ . . . Mantaro choked on his tear, as his laughter turned into a gargled groan. It pressed slowly forward, with the weeping head pushing against his hole. The rim gave way a little with the pressure, as it stretched to accommodate the girth, and it was strange . . . something usually closed, something usually meant to keep things in . . . _welcoming_ the intrusion.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ,”_ gasped Buffaloman.

He pushed forward. The head was swallowed whole . . . _‘this is always the hardest part, sweet-cheeks; push out like you need to take a dump’_ . . . the advice felt counter-intuitive, but Mantaro pushed at his inner walls as told. The erect cock slid ever inward. It was like it was being sucked inside, as his walls fluttered around it with quick and firm clenches, and – choking on saliva – a horrendous wave of pleasure and agony crossed through him in equal measure. There was no physical pain, only a moderate discomfort, but he didn’t want this . . . _he didn’t want it_. . .

It was impossible to describe, as he was full to breaking point. It was a sense of completion . . . _just enough to really feel it, not enough to tear or bruise_ . . . arousal burst through Mantaro, even as the word ‘ _no_ ’ was chanted once more, and his head rocked from side to side. Mantaro found strength to bring his hands to his eyes, as he rubbed at them with tight fists. The member was so hot inside him, so surprisingly rigid, and – each time he clenched – the arousal only increased.

The pleasure coursed through him, mixing with adrenaline and fatigue, and his leg – still on Buffaloman’s shoulder – twitched and instinctively pulled closer, even as one hand pushed hard against the rock-solid muscles of the bare chest. It brushed lightly against his prostate, like a constant pressure that reminded him of what it could have been . . . _thoughts to Chaos, memories of fingers and giggles and orgasms_ . . . his walls squeezed over and over.

Buffaloman moved the camera just above his lips . . . he pulled slowly out, until only the head remained, and the walls closed again, leaving him with an empty feeling . . . then he thrust. It was hard. It was fast. He pushed balls deep inside Mantaro, purposely angling down to strike against the prostate, and – with an explosion of colours – Mantaro screamed. The pleasure was intense. He threw open his mouth wide, with a string of saliva breaking with the gesture, and his head slammed back, as his back arched like a bow. He clawed at the desk.

“Yeah, let go, Junior,” gasped Buffaloman. “Show me how you want this.”

“I – I don’t . . . _please,_ stop! I – I – I don’t – I can’t . . .”

The cock slid back in and out. It was fast and hard, and the balls slapped against his buttocks with every thrust deep inside. Buffaloman dropped the camera. It stared upwards, while the desk rocked with the force of the rhythmic motions, and Mantaro’s legs were forced around Buffaloman’s waist, while his hands slammed down on either side of his head. The steady stream of grunts and groans echoed out about the office, as the desk came on-and-off the floor with a hard stream of banging noises that would surely be heard below. Mantaro sobbed.

The tears ran down his mask and into his hair-line, while he choked on bile and saliva and struggled to breathe through the heavy weight against his chest . . . it knocked the wind from him, forcing out pants and sighs that he prayed sounded nothing like encouragement. The pleasure crept up alongside all the emotions . . . all the pain . . . _vomit poured from his mouth_. There was barely time to toss his head to the side, in full view of the camera, as it spewed forth.

“Fucking disgusting,” spat Buffaloman.

The vomit barely missed his hand. Mantaro thanked God for small mercies, as Buffaloman slid his hand down his body . . . brushing over nipples, stroking against his happy trails, toying with his pubic hair . . . it grabbed at his erect member. The thumb dipped into the slit, while a firm grip worked him with impressive speed. Mantaro cried out. He struck hard at Buffaloman’s shoulders . . . _‘no, no, god, please don’t, no, no, no’_. . . he hit over and over and over . . .

Every nerve was aflame, set alive with electricity. Mantaro scratched and clawed, until blood formed beneath his nails and long lines raked down that muscular chest, and the pleasure continued to build . . . to grow . . . his skin was on fire, while his heart raced. It was too much. It was too good. A scream grew in his throat, swallowed alive by agony and pleasure, and - as he cursed the sound-proofing on the offices – it finally roared from his throat and broke across the room, drowning out all other sounds. It tore at his throat. It brought pain with ecstasy.

He came.

The world went white, as orgasmic bliss was wrenched from him. He arched his back to breaking point, while his feet dug under the buttocks of Buffaloman and pulled him impossibly deep, and his cock spurted ropes of come fast and hot . . . they spurted in rapid succession. They painted white his stomach and pooled in his belly button. The beats of his heart were so loud and fast that he worried his heart would stop, and his breath stopped entirely in his throat.

Mantaro lost track of the long seconds, cursing the longest orgasm of his life, until – as his inner walls clenched hard – the rush of come inside his behind marked the end . . . _at last_. Buffaloman roared out his climax, as he slammed once . . . twice . . . _thrice_ into Mantaro. It was a sensation nothing like he imagined, as he felt filled to the brim with only the thick cock plugging him up and keeping it from leaking out, and yet it was far from sexual . . . far from wanted . . . like the feeling of an enema or sitting on the hot-tub jets. He shook his head with one last ‘no’.

Buffaloman slid his hand away. It was coated with come and sweat, while his hot breath panted out against Mantaro’s neck, and the stench of sex and sick flooded his senses, as Mantaro struggled to scramble away and sit upright. The sweat from his palms made purchase impossible, as he slid against the desk and Buffaloman dropped heavy against his chest. He sobbed. He wept. He hit half-heartedly at Buffaloman, who slowly pulled out with a grunt.

“Fine, you’ve done your job, whore,” muttered Buffaloman.

The softening member slid out of his hole with a squelch, as come and lubrication leaked out of his soaking wet hole, and – stretched to breaking point – it winked and contracted in a strange rhythm, while the cool air felt painfully cold against his swollen ring of muscle. Buffaloman snatched at the camera and staggered around the table, taking footage from all angles, and stopped again between his legs to film the now dripping hole, as he spat out an order for Mantaro push out. He obeyed. The come spurted and trickled down his crack.

“I – I want to go home,” choked Mantaro. “I want to go home!”

“Not yet,” spat Buffaloman.

“Please, I – I – I want to go _home_. I want –”

“I said _not fucking yet_!” Buffaloman slapped his buttock. “You’re going to make the most of this ‘meeting’ between us, you fucking cunt! I want you to ride me in my office chair, make a little show for me to remember later, and maybe we’ll find some other things for you to do, yeah? I’ve still not had my fill, bitch. Just looking at you is getting me hard again . . . _shit_. . .”

The camera dropped down beside his head. Buffaloman struck him again . . . _again_. . . a red handprint was let visible on his buttocks, as the spanking continued at a hard and fast pace, and soon Mantaro knew sitting would be a pain unlike anything experienced in battle. He sobbed brokenly, even as the spanking stopped and Buffaloman staggered around the desk and threw himself into his office chair. The chair squeaked with his weight. He parted his legs and displayed his growing erection with a chojin’s endurance, and patted his thigh with a chuckle.

“Get over here, cunt,” ordered Buffaloman.

Mantaro obeyed. Mantaro wept . . .


	5. Chapter 5

The door locked.

Meat placed a chair beneath the handle, before double-checking the windows. They rattled as he tried to open each one, while a cold draught blew out from the cracks, and – stuffing old newspaper into the gaps – Meat triple-checked the locks and drew the curtains. He turned on the overhead lights. The shack burst into life, with every single nook and cranny exposed. A glow from the television added to the overall effect, with images of a wildlife documentary flickering across the screen, and the radio played from the kitchenette, adding to the noise.

There was no darkness now for evil to lurk.

The scent of the stew drifted outward, as it bubbled on the stove. It was an old recipe, given to Meat on request by Bibimba herself, and the leftover ingredients littered the table, on top of the paper bags and receipts and printed-out recipe sheet. Meat ran over to check on the food. The taste was a little sweet, but helped with the continuous video-call to Bibimba, who offered advice until the dish was done. It was strange without her voice now. It was too quiet.

Meat scooped out a large bowl. He carried it over to the futon, where Mantaro lay on his side . . . _refused to sit upright, refused to lie on his back, limped as he walked_ . . . tears pricked behind Meat’s glasses, as he drew in a staggered breath and forced a smile. It knocked back the tears and emphasised the laughter lines about his face, while he sat cross-legged beside Mantaro. The pillows took a while to pile, as he adjusted Mantaro and helped him to sit on a slope. The blankets slipped . . . his sweat-soaked uniform was torn in places and smelled.

“I’ve text everyone, Junior,” said Meat.

Mantaro grunted.

“They know not to visit tonight.” Meat sighed. “I told them that you skipped out on training, so I’ve taken you out camping to fit in some extra-intense exercise, and they seem to have bought it for the most part . . . Chaos, Rinko and Jacqueline I told the truth. I told them that I wanted to have a proper heart-to-heart with you, kiddo. We’ve got total privacy.”

The rain beat down on top of the shack. Meat tilted his head upward, as his smile softened his features and his eyes grew half-lidded, and memories drifted back of lazy mornings with Suguru and training with Terryman . . . the same rain, the same sounds . . . he chuckled. It beat down on the metallic roof, with an irregular yet soothing rhythm. Meat slid the bowl closer to Mantaro, who brought it swiftly to his lips and gulped it down. The swell of his Adam’s apple bobbed in time to the quick succession of swallows, until – breathless – he put the bowl down and panted.

“I guess you worked up an appetite, huh?”

Mantaro paled. The colour on his arms drained away, while the small pieces of his face – just barely visible beneath the stitching on the hem of the eyes and nose – were pure white. A tremble overtook his hands, as they slowly came towards his chest, and his legs pulled to his chest, as he rolled to sit properly on his buttocks. He winced. A choked high-pitched cry escaped his throat, as he angled his body to rest his weight primarily on one buttock.

A low sigh escaped Meat, as he scratched at the back of his neck. He pushed aside the bowl of stew, before pulling closer a large wash-basin, and – with cautious movements – took a wet flannel and mopped at Mantaro’s brow and cheeks and neck. Meat hummed an old tune, one taught to him by Sayuri as a child . . . sharing songs with Suguru in the nursery, laughing when Mayumi would confuse the lyrics . . . Mantaro shivered, but the trembling was less extreme. The song seemed to help regulate his breathing, as Meat soon whispered:

“I used to work up an appetite with Buffaloman, too.”

Mantaro flinched. Meat lowered his head with a blush, while he wrung the cloth into the basin, and – as the radio and rain filled the silence – Mantaro tuned his head towards him, with eyes wide and mouth open. The beating of Mantaro’s heart drowned out all else, as the tears brimmed once more and distorted the world around them. He choked down a few deep breaths, while forcing the smile to stay on his lips, and trailed the cloth around the surface of the water in strange patterns, until Mantaro grabbed at his wrist and made him stop. Mantaro asked:

“You – You mean that he -?”

“Junior, I’ve seen how you’ve been acting.” Meat wiped at a tear. “I ignored it at first . . . just thought maybe I was a bit paranoid, like I was projecting my stuff onto you, and I didn’t want to talk about my troubles, not unless I absolutely had no other choice. It – It was in the past, you know? I had it all in a neat little box, like I could forget about it, but talking about it -?

“Well, I guess I was worried about what people would think about me. I’m a chojin, but not just any chojin . . . I’m training _the_ Kinniku Mantaro, and I’m the trainer and friend of Kinnikuman. I thought that . . . _ah_ . . . I guess I thought that people would wonder why I couldn’t fight back, or why I didn’t say something sooner, and I didn’t want to be soon as a victim. I wanted to carry on being their equal, because it’s hard enough always being the short one, the young one . . .”

Meat lifted his glasses to wipe at his eyes.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? I didn’t say anything back then, because he made it seem like my friends wouldn’t believe me and would turn against me . . . he was a reformed character, one of their best friends, and I was just this kid that hung around them by virtue of the prince, and . . . _I believed him_. I let him get in my head. I was so scared that I might lose them over something _he_ did, it led me to thinking that _I_ was the problem . . . I didn’t think they’d believe me.”

Meat put his glasses back down. He dropped the cloth into the wash basin with a splash, before sliding the bowl to the side of the room, and quickly darted to get more stew, as he busied himself with inane tasks . . . _brushing down the countertops, putting away old dishes ._ . . a low giggle escaped Mantaro. Meat stopped. He blushed. It was common knowledge that he cleaned under pressure, but – right now – Mantaro needed him. Meat rushed back to the bedside with the fresh bowl of stew, and pushed it into Mantaro’s hands with a smile.

“Junior, you know that I’d believe you, right?”

The stew sloshed against the sides of the bowl, as Mantaro shifted his weight from buttock to buttock with various grunts and winces, and – finally finding a comfortable position – he sipped from the bowl without making eye-contact. Meat waited. The tears were visible about Mantaro’s eyes, as they seeped into the mask and ran down the thick material. Meat cast his eyes to the television set, where Ikemen stood before the stadium, and the subtitles spoke of upcoming exhibition matches and fan-appreciation days. Meat half-smiled, until Mantaro sniffed.

“He said to say nothing,” said Mantaro.

“He said that to me, too.” Meat huffed. “He had control over me back then. He’s always been much bigger, with a much higher power level, and much older too . . . I couldn’t have fought back, but Lord knows that I tried to fight. I did. I fought, Mantaro . . . _I fought_. I don’t know why I’m still letting him have this control over me now, like he’s still in my head . . .”

“Maybe you’re scared he’ll hurt you again?”

“No . . . no, I know men like him thrive off fear. If I don’t fear him, I’m not the ideal victim to him, and he knows that now I’ve the courage to come forward, so – if he hurt me – I’d report him and press charges and give evidence. I think . . . I think the reason I’m letting him have this power is because I’m ashamed. I’m _ashamed_ of what happened to me, but that’s -?

“It’s not right and it’s not fair. I have nothing to be ashamed about, and I don’t want you to feel like you should be ashamed either . . . a part of me just feels guilty, because if I’d spoken out sooner then maybe -? I don’t know, Junior. I have no right to make this about me, especially when you’re the one hurting, but if I’d just said something sooner . . . if I’d just been braver . . .”

“This isn’t your fault, Meat.”

“No, but it sure ain’t yours, either! The only one to blame is Buffaloman; I don’t care what you did or said or how you acted, because – hey – you could have been doing a lap-dance wearing nothing but a feather-thong and it’d _still_ be his fault. He’s a grown-up, right? It’s up to him to have self-control, and he has no right – _no right_ – to have traumatised either of us like that. _None_.”

Mantaro brought the stew close to his face. The steam partially obscured his face, but the tears were visible as they streamed down his face . . . _lips trembling, eyes shimmering, nostrils twitching_ . . . it took a great deal of strength to hold back the wracked sobs. He jerked his chest in time to his cries, until his hands shook too much to hold the bowl. Meat barely found time to snatch it away, as Mantaro dropped his head onto his knees . . . he rocked back and forth, back and forth, while his arms wrapped around his legs. Meat choked out in a quiet voice:

“I’ll never forgive myself for not speaking out sooner.”

He put the bowl to the side, as he patted Mantaro on his back. The muscles were tense and hard, while the skin was warm and clammy, and – at certain points – Mantaro would wince with a loud yelp, where there was likely nail marks running down his flesh. Meat eyed the medicine cabinet. He quickly darted across the room for the first-aid kit, before sliding across the floor on his knees and skidded to a halt just beside Mantaro. Meat carefully opened the box and took out the disinfectant and bandages, where he placed them neatly beside the futon.

“Look, I get it,” said Meat. “It’s scary and confusing and you think it’ll never end. You keep quiet, because you’re scared . . . you’re scared people won’t listen, scared they’ll see you differently, scared maybe he’ll just do it worse . . . well, you don’t have to be scared of me! I’ll believe you. I’ll believe you, because I know what it’s like to need to be heard.”

“He said he’d hurt Chaos, if I didn’t do what he wanted!”

“He said that?” Meat flinched. “Well, you listen here! If we can both be brave together, and we both tell Robin and King Muscle what we know -? Buffaloman will never hurt anyone again, because we’ll have been proper Justice Chojin and stopped him. We can do this!”

Meat punched the air with a forced ‘woo’. He smiled and came around Mantaro, as he sat on the piled pillows and gently lifted Mantaro’s shirt . . . there was no argument, no panic . . . _good, Mantaro still trusted him_. . . Meat remembered too well when it happened to him. The shame had left him showering until his skin was red raw, while hyperventilating any time his cape was moved or anyone touched his bare skin. He let loose a shuddered sigh. The skin on sight was lined with red claw marks, just like so long ago . . . Meat uncapped the disinfectant. 

“I don’t know if I want to,” whispered Mantaro. “I’m supposed to be strong and brave, and I’m supposed to stop evil and rescue people in need . . . I couldn’t even rescue _myself_! I don’t want my dad to be upset and cry, and I don’t want for my friends to pity me, and I don’t want to be the centre of some scandal and have everyone talking about me. I just want to forget.”

“That’d be one thing if you were like me, Junior. It’s one thing to try and ignore it, because – _woo boy_ – you don’t _ever_ forget . . . I mean, I’m out of that situation. He can’t hurt me now. I still get bad dreams and flashbacks, and I still get panic attacks when I’m alone with him, but he can’t do to me what he does to you . . . not now. Can you _really_ ‘forget’ while he’s still hurting you? The only way to _stop_ him from hurting you is to tell someone.”

“I’m scared . . . _I’m scared_! Do you know how many convictions there are for rape? Do you know how many people even report their rapists? It’s not easy! He might even get away with this, Meat, and I’ll – I’ll – I’ll be the one with the reputation . . . the comments . . . he’ll just go on with his life and find some other victim, while _I’m_ the one to suffer. It’s not fair!”

Meat blinked back tears. He poured some disinfectant onto a cotton swab, before carefully cleaning the wounds over Mantaro’s back . . . there would likely be bruises and marks, maybe even internal tears . . . Meat bit deep into his lip, as he swallowed hard. It would be difficult to get Mantaro to see a doctor, but possible to get him to self-administer salves . . . check himself for injuries . . . the cotton-wool brought a few hisses from Mantaro. The cuts were deep in places, but fresh all over. Mantaro jerked his body as the cotton touched the reddest parts.

“No, it’s not fair,” said Meat.

He squeezed at Mantaro’s shoulders.

“It’s not fair we live in a society where abuse is so normalised. It’s not fair that Rinko and Jacqueline experience sexual harassment on a damned daily basis. It’s not fair that when Nakano tried to expose my penis that people laughed it off as a joke. It’s not fair that I was sexually molested at school and my abusers got away with it . . . it’s not fair that Thunder was driven to _murder_ over self-hatred from being the result of rape. None of it is fair!

“Mayumi cheated on his wife all the time, and Bibimba was assaulted by Phoenix in public, and all the time people just excuse it or laugh it off or whatever else . . . well, I think it’s time we took a stand, and if you’re not ready to make that stand -? I’ll do it! I’ll come forward and tell them what happened, so maybe this will all finally stop, and you’ll be safe, Mantaro!”

“I – I – I can’t ask you to do that for me . . .”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.” Meat smiled. “Do you know how it happened with me? He started off making ‘jokes’ and advances, and I was always a little uncomfortable around him. I would say to people that I felt off with him, but they would either assume it was just because I disliked the guy or laugh it off and call me paranoid. I didn’t dare tell them the truth.

“Eventually, he’d do like he did at that big party we had when you fought against Generation Ex, and he’d start taking peeks at me or exposing my privates or asking inappropriate questions. I guess – by that point – I figured ‘no one listened to me for the small stuff, why would they listen to me for the big stuff’? I was alone one day, after training . . . he asked me into his office . . . I tried to make excuses, but I could only say so much and I didn’t want to be rude . . .

“I was second-guessing myself, like maybe he _was_ just joking until now? I was uncomfortable, but was that just me and I was reading too much into stuff? I . . . it . . . I’ve never told a living soul, but he tried to touch me . . . we fought . . . eventually he got me on the floor and he . . . he . . . he _hurt_ me. It was only the once, but I’ve been terrified of him ever since.”

The lines ran low on his back. Meat let out a low and long breath, while trying to slow his racing heart, and his eyes ran lower to those buttocks . . . _crescent-shaped cuts beneath each cheek, handprint bruises on the meat of the buttock . . ._ they were far from visible, but they would no doubt be there and be painful. He cleaned the last of what could be reached, before sliding down the shirt and walking back to the side of the futon. Mantaro remained hunched. The radio began to turn to commercials, while Meat knelt and bit into his lip, as he shook his head.

“Let me tell them what he did to me,” said Meat.

“I – I can’t . . .”

“Do you know what happens what you hit water?” Meat sighed. “It makes a splash. That’s the most violent part . . . after that, you get the ripples that spread outward. That’s usually the part that’s tricky and hard to control, as you get to see the longer lasting effects, but eventually . . . eventually the water grows still. It’s calm. It’s . . . it’s okay again.

“It might be stained or dyed, it might have a little less or more, but it’s always still . . . people are like those waters. We might be changed, and the initial trauma and aftermath can be hard as hell to deal with, but – ultimately – we always find a way to cope . . . we go back to what we were before, because no rapist can take away _who_ we are, Junior. You’ll always be Mantaro, and when this is over, you’ll be Mantaro again. I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but –”

“I – I’ll never be normal again . . . I – I – I can’t . . .”

“Why not? _I’m_ not ruined for life, right?”

Meat stood. He placed his hands on his hips, while forcing a bright smile. The television flickered to the global news, where images of the president flickered about the shack, and Meat – with a low hum – turned off the television, before eyeing the telephone. Mantaro followed his gaze and shook his head, while his lips tumbled over the words ‘please, no’. Meat dropped his smile. He instead crawled across the floor and sat on the edge of the futon, before taking Mantaro’s hands into a firm grip and placing a chaste kiss to them, as he whispered:

“You need to be able to admit to yourself what he did . . .”

The rain lessened. A loud dripping noise replaced the beating of the rain on metal, while the soothing patter of water running down the gutters echoed out, and Meat half-closed his eyes, as he squeezed at those hands and ran his thumbs in circles. Mantaro lifted his head. He rubbed at his eyes with childlike fists, as Meat’s hands dropped away and rested on his knees. Mantaro took several gulping breaths. He screwed shut his eyes. He turned to Meat.

“He hurt me,” whispered Mantaro. “ _He hurt me_ . . .”

The water dripped. The stew cooled. Meat counted the seconds, as he heaved a long sigh and ran a hand over his mask. There was a twitch to Mantaro’s mouth . . . _‘he hurt me’_. . . a low chuckle broke over his lips, until it grew and grew and soon laughter spilled forth, and tears streamed down his face. He shook his head. The laughter turned into a chant . . . a mantra . . . _‘no, no, no’_. . . Mantaro jumped to his feet. Blankets tumbled from his legs. He paced back and forth beside the futon, while he clawed at his mask and scratched at his face.

“I can’t do this,” mumbled Mantaro.

“You don’t have to do anything, Junior. Let me deal with it all.”

“No. _No_!” Mantaro grasped at his head. “I – I can still fix this. It – It’s my job to – to – to protect people . . . that means you, Meat. I stopped him coming after Chaos, but I – I can’t let you come forward just to stop him from hurting me . . . I can’t – I can’t expose your secret just to keep mine, a-and besides . . . maybe . . . maybe there’s a way around this.”

“Mantaro, you don’t have to be strong for everyone . . .”

“I’ll fix this, Meat. I promise . . . I’ll fix this! I – I – I can ask Robin for a transfer to a different ward, or maybe I can go back to Planet Kinniku to take up royal duties, or maybe I – I can convince Buffaloman to stop? There – There has to be a way . . . I have to – I have to . . .”

“Come on, Junior. You just lie down and rest, okay?”

“No, I need air,” cried Mantaro.

He raced forward toward the door. The blankets caught about his feet, sending him hurtling to the ground, and his forearms collided hard against the floorboards. A few hand-shaped bruises were visible around his neck and wrists, while he clamoured and clawed to get back onto his feet with incoherent murmurs. Meat raced to his side. He shouted a broken ‘ _no’_. Mantaro threw out a hand and climbed upright, while he ran to the front door and fumbled with the locks. They clattered and clinked under the pressure, while Meat slowly came towards him with hands raised.

“Junior, you’re worrying me, and –”

“ _I need air_!”

Mantaro threw open the door. A river of water dripped from the edges of the tin-roof, like a curtain before the door that distorted the world beyond, and the darkness of the sky was broken only by the artificial lights of the cityscape. Mantaro tumbled into the park. The rain and water cascaded over him, mixing with the sweat and tears and soaking into his uniform, as he tilted his head up to the skies above and choked out a final ‘no’. He ran before Meat could utter a word. A cold silence descended, as Meat reached out a hand and caught nothing but air.

He let his hand linger high above, before it fell heavy and limp at his waist. The silence was cold, broken only by the rain and wind, and the draught chilled his skin. A breeze blew at the door, causing it to swing in an odd time and to an odd pattern. Meat stepped back. He wrapped his arms around his body, while tears streamed down his cheeks. The lump in his throat was hard to swallow, as his small frame shook, and a sticky sweat broke across his flesh.

Meat ran to the telephone . . .


	6. Chapter 6

“I – I need to find him.”

Chaos paced back and forth. The bright lights above cast strange shadows in every direction down below, as if several of Chaos walked in tandem with his movements, and his face was unnatural pale with his blond hair falling about his cheeks. He fisted his hands at his sides, while harsh and shallow breaths escaped flared nostrils. Rinko sat on the edge of the armchair, where her forearms rested on parted legs, and her canine teeth dug into her lower lip.

It was quiet in the lobby, where the empty reception desk stood near to them. The railings to the heightened seating area separated them from the bar and reception, and Jacqueline – leaning with folded arms against a Grecian column – looked at home among the VIP section. A few of the older generation dashed by them into the main lobby or the private offices, and each time Chaos ran to the railing and gripped it until his knuckles turned white. They would wave back and tell him to stay put, while tears pricked at his eyes and his lips trembled. Rinko winced.

The muscles in his back tensed. There was a tremble to his limbs. He spun around with eyes overflowing with tears, which streamed down his cheeks and dripped down onto the floor, and his chest jerked with small hiccups and choked breaths. The expression he bore betrayed his young age, making him seem almost a child. He looked both ways, while avoiding Rinko and Jacqueline. The tears stopped. He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips into a line, as he spat:

“ _I need to find Mantaro_!”

He spun around. He dove forward. Rinko jumped from her chair, as a whispered _‘shit’_ tumbled from her mouth . . . her fingers just scraped against Chaos’ skin, as he lunged over the railing, and – with barely a few seconds to spare – her hands gripped at his belt. It yanked him about his waist. A loud ‘ _oof’_ echoed about the lobby, as the force of the belt knocked the wind from Chaos, and Rinko channelled all her strength into yanking Chaos back. He tumbled onto the floor.

Chaos rubbed at his nose with his forearm. The tears threatened to come back, as he pouted and sat cross-legged on the tiled floor, but – with a barely muffled huff of breath – he dove forward again . . . Rinko pushed him back. He shook his head with a whined ‘ _Mantaro needs me’_ , as his cheeks flushed and lip trembled, and his expression darkened again, before he tried to jump to his feet . . . Rinko slammed a foot on his shoulder. It likely left him with an indecent view, with her skirt short and leg pressing down onto his shoulder, but she held it in place and shouted:

“Calm down, Chaos!”

They locked eyes. He glared and opened his mouth, as a half-aborted word died in his throat, and – just as quickly as it opened – his mouth closed once again . . . he wept. He rubbed at his eyes with clenched fists, while he lowered his head and hunched forward. Rinko dropped her foot. It was as if he transformed back into the boy he was when they first met, the one that would blush whenever he held her hand and look away, and Rinko ran a hand through her hair with a sigh, as she realised he was still fourteen . . . still just a child, still struggling to process events . . . 

“You’re no good to Manta like this,” said Rinko.

“What am I supposed to _do_?”

“Meat is waiting at Kinniku House.” Rinko sighed. “King Kinniku has people watching transport to and from Planet Kinniku. Kid has the gang searching all of Tokyo, while Sister and Mama are staying at Gakincho House and Sumino Kindergarten. Hell, Robin Mask is scouring the stadium as we speak! I mean . . . we’ll find him, Chaos. _We’ll find him_!”

“How – How’re we going to find him here? Wh-What – What if he’s hurt and in hospital? What if he’s lost and wandering somewhere? He – He said that he was going to ‘fix’ things, right? Do you think he’s gone to the police or maybe gone abroad to a friend’s place or –?”

“I – I don’t know, Chaos! I just know that we’re better off here in the lobby, because it’s going to be the first place people come when they’re done searching or want new leads, and we’ve looked _everywhere_ anyway . . . we can’t keep treading old ground. It’s pointless.”

“No, what’s pointless is doing nothing!” Chaos clenched his fists. “Mantaro was my best friend . . . he’s my – my – my _boyfriend_ . . . he helped train me and worked with me and supported me, and I’m just sitting in a lobby waiting for my heart to stop skipping a beat each time someone races through a door! I hate feeling so helpless . . . like he felt helpless . . .”

Chaos toyed with the hem of his trousers. He lowered his head until Rinko finally was able to draw in a long and deep breath, while Jacqueline slowly came closer and dropped onto her heels beside Chaos, where she stroked at his upper arm and smiled. A door opened and slammed again in the distance, where an assistant ran through the VIP lobby on the phone to the police, and Chaos awkwardly turned his head to follow the man, until he disappeared. Chaos turned again. He moved his head towards the doors towards the offices and curled his lip.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” whispered Chaos.

He climbed to his feet, nearly knocking Jacqueline off her feet. Rinko stepped closer. A hand fell onto his upper arm, while Jacqueline stood and touched him from the other side, and both flanked him with forced smiles and whispered reassurances. He brushed them both back. Chaos swung around and pointed with a trembling finger to the doors, as his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. The veins on his arm bulged, as he choked out in a low and slow voice:

“ _I’m going to fucking kill Buffaloman!_ ”

Chaos lunged again. Jacqueline pushed Rinko back, throwing her into the leather of the armchair, and the force knocked the air from her lungs, as her eyes closed and body splayed about the soft and plump cushions. It dazed her. Rinko struggled to see past the sparks of colour about her vision, but slowly . . . surely . . . Jacqueline became visible, as she wrestled with Chaos. Two long arms wrapped about his torso, as she forced him slowly down onto the ground, and she held him tightly like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. He wept and tossed and turned.

“ _Let me go,_ ” screamed Chaos.

“No,” spat Jacqueline. “No! Everyone just thinks Mantaro is missing, but only we three and Meat know _why_ . . . do you really want to give Buffaloman a chance to run? How will anyone get justice then? What about the fact that then _everyone_ will know what Mantaro went through and no one wants that? What about if _you_ get arrested, too? Mantaro has enough to deal with without you being held on charges of grievous bodily harm!”

“We should tell Robin Mask and Ikemen Muscle,” muttered Rinko. “Everyone thinks Mantaro just had some sort of breakdown, like he’s going to off himself or something, and they’re bound to look in totally different places, because he’s _not_ suicidal or just depressed, right? Why would he go to some old bridge or hide in a pachinko parlour? It could help.”

“I think we should give Mantaro a _little_ time. He might have just legitimately wanted time alone to process things, and to think that Meat went through that . . . I – I had no clue. Isn’t Meat telling Robin Mask what happened to him? I’m sure they’ll put two and two together . . . they probably have footage from security cameras, records of shifts and meetings . . . the second we tell one person what Mantaro endured, though, is the second _everyone_ knows.”

They fell silent. Chaos went limp. He stopped fighting against Jacqueline, but instead dropped against her and buried his head against her chest, as the tears spilled fast and hot down his cheeks and soaked into her low-cut shirt. Jacqueline rocked with him back and forth, as he sat between her legs and clung to her waist. Rinko rubbed at her collarbone. A faint red mark appeared, but it could have been so much worse with Chaos at such a higher power level . . . even now he occasionally thrashed and struck, as he murmured about hurting Buffaloman.

“I know it’s not the same,” said Jacqueline, “but I think we’ve both experienced harassment in the past . . . I don’t know of a single woman that hasn’t, if I’m honest. A lot of the time you can just smack the guy in the face and look past it, but sometimes . . . sometimes it’s more subtle, and a few times I know I didn’t fight back, because I didn’t know if I _should_.”

“What do you mean?” Chaos muttered.

“Well, one time, at work, there was a delivery guy that seemed to think my smiling was meant to be flirtatious, and he’d start flirting with me . . . it was all fine, until one day he kissed me on the cheek as a ‘goodbye’. Okay, I thought, maybe he’s a bit familiar and just saying goodbye like he would family or other cultures? Then one day he stroked my buttock . . .

“Even now, I still kind of wonder if maybe it was accidental or I misread the situation. I didn’t want to say anything, just in case I got an innocent man fired, and there was never any _proof_. I could _see_ in my mind the judgement and anger from people, like their eyes looking me over with disgust, because they all loved this guy and I would have been accusing him out of nowhere. I should have said something, but I just completely avoided him and ignored him.

“Even now I still don’t want that trouble.” Jacqueline sighed. “I know maybe he could be harassing someone else, maybe even escalating his behaviour, but in my mind . . . maybe I led him on, maybe I mistook things, maybe it was an accident . . . _maybe it was me_. I’m scared, because I don’t want to be seen as a ‘victim’ or the ‘liar’, and Mantaro . . .”

“His situation is ten times worse,” said Rinko.

“Exactly, so he’s probably feeling all that, _but worse_.”

Chaos finally fell still and quiet. It was enough that Jacqueline was able to guide him onto the armchair opposite Rinko, before she sat upon its arm and guided his head onto her lap, and her manicured fingers ran through his long locks of hair. The soft brushes against his scalp lulled his eyelids half-closed, while his breathing slowed and his muscled relaxed. A couple of staff ran through the lobby and told them ‘nothing yet’, before they darted out of sight, and Rinko quickly checked the clock on her phone. No texts or calls from the others. No sign of Mantaro.

“Still, if I _had_ said something –?” Jacqueline shook her head. “I don’t know, but maybe someone else felt the same way and just kept quiet, too? Meat did. I mean, maybe it would have led to the guy being fired, but then I could have gone back to my normal routine and life . . .”

“So Mantaro should tell someone,” muttered Chaos.

“No, but maybe . . . maybe _we_ do need to tell someone, maybe Rinko is right. I struggled with that alone and didn’t know what to do, but I’d have _killed_ for someone to just magically go ‘this is the right thing to do’, and Manta . . . he’s obviously struggling and stressed and this is _way_ more than we can deal with, so maybe -? I think we should say something.”

Chaos sighed, as he slowly slid upright. He ran his hands through his hair, before resting them at the back of his neck, and – craning his head back to look at the lights above – the tears shone and glistened against his cheeks. Jacqueline let her hand trail on his shoulder, as she kept close contact and eyed the door to the offices . . . Rinko _prayed_ Buffaloman was at home. Each time the door opened, her heart skipped a beat for all the wrong reasons. They fell into silence, while Chaos fumbled in his pocket and took out his phone in turn, and unlocked the screen.

“I think you’re right,” said Chaos.

He scrolled down to a familiar name: Robin Mask. Chaos let his thumb hover over the contact, where a single press would connect the call . . . many of the Legends were still in the stadium or offices, liaising with the police and Ikemen, and they could meet them within minutes. Jacqueline shot Rinko a quick look, with a squeeze of her eyes. Rinko returned the look. A smile broke over Jacqueline, as – with a sigh – she squeezed at Chaos’ shoulder and whispered words of encouragement. Chaos reached for her hand and held it tight, as he asked in a broken voice:

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

“I think he can’t forgive anyone if he’s hurt or dead,” said Rinko. “Look, I know it sounds harsh, but we have _no_ idea what Manta’s idea of ‘fixing’ this is, and – well – he’s been pretty fucking loopy for a while now . . . if this is some sort of breakdown -? We need to tell someone. He’s being _raped_ , Chaos! No one knows so no one can help, but -! Ugh!”

“We can’t let Buffaloman keep hurting him,” added Jacqueline. “What if they’ve asked Buffaloman to join the search? What if Buffaloman finds him first? He could threaten him or hurt him or ‘bring him back’ to look the hero or – or – or _anything_!”

“The dude’s been _raping_ Manta. It’s all good and well Meat telling them what happened to him, but it’ll be Meat’s word against his and probably with zero evidence . . . they might suspend Buffaloman at best, but it’s not going to stop him from being around or being near Manta or from having access to other students. I vote for telling an adult like . . . _now_.”

“Okay, but . . . how do we even have that conversation?”

“I don’t know. I guess just a simple ‘Buffaloman raped Mantaro’?”

_A shattering of glass._

They turned towards the empty reception desk. Ikemen stood pale. He dropped his mouth open, while his hands hung limply at his sides, and a broken mug lay shattered in pieces at his feet, where the hot tea stained the plush carpet. There were papers in disarray beside them, with the pure white pages soaking in the dark liquid. Ikemen ignored them all, as he darted towards the VIP lobby and hopped up onto the ledge, and – leaning against the railings – he looked from person to person, before settling on Rinko and wagging a finger in her direction. He spat:

“You – You _are_ joking?”

Chaos stood. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, while he locked eyes with Ikemen, and – in the corner of her peripheral vision – Rinko saw Meat with tears walking alongside Ramenman, who held onto his shoulder with a comforting touch. They knew what happened to Meat. Now that knew what happened to Mantaro. Chaos slowly stepped towards Ikemen, where he nodded with a half-hearted bow and placed both hands on his hips. A tear pricked at his eye.

“It’s the truth,” said Chaos.

The reaction was instant. Ikemen swore and jumped down from the ledge, while he rapidly ripped out his work-phone from a pocket in his skirt, and – as his fumbled to unlock the device – he signalled to Ramenman to take Meat towards the ring. He lifted his phone and listened to the ringing sound. The security guards were called over, as he whispered something to them. They ran. It was a sweeping manoeuvre, as they darted to every nook and crevice, while calling on walkie-talkies for other security and checking every room in the process. Rinko asked:

“What’s so urgent?”

“Mantaro came here in tears earlier,” rushed Ikemen. “I – I saw he was upset, but he was so desperate to talk to Buffaloman . . . I thought he was late with an essay or missed training or had gotten into a fight! I walked past the office and he was _begging_ Buffaloman to go easy on him, just like he would if he was in trouble, but you’re saying that he _raped_ him?”

“Yes!” Jacqueline shouted: “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“The second I heard Mantaro was missing, I went back to the office! The door was locked and Buffaloman opened it a crack to say Mantaro had already gone, so I took him at his word. If any of you had bothered to tell me that – _ah, yes, Robin, it’s Ikemen Muscle! I need you to –”_

Ikemen pressed a finger into one ear, while the listening with the other. A lifted hand had the guards blocking off the entrances and exit, as he darted towards the offices at full speed, and the door slammed behind him, leaving them in absolute silence. Chaos lurched forward. Jacqueline grabbed him by his wrist and shook her head, while dragging him back to the armchair and forcing him to sit down, and – caught between crying and screaming – Chaos rocked back and forth, while pressing down hard on the sides of his head. Jacqueline whispered:

“Stay calm, Chaos. He’s sending Robin there now.”

Tears streamed down Chaos’ cheeks. Rinko came over and sat on the other arm, while she looked towards the main doors that leaded towards the ring, and bit her lip, as her thoughts turned to Meat and how it must have felt speaking out for the first time . . . Rinko let loose a shuddered breath. A smile forced its way across her face, as she held his hands and squeezed them tight, but they were cold . . . trembling . . . Rinko dropped her smile . . .

“He’ll be okay, Chaos. He’ll be okay . . .”


	7. Chapter 7

“Hello, Robin speaking.”

He brought the phone to his mask. The metal distorted the sound, muffling the speaker on the other end, and forced him to stop midway through a step. He turned his head to the storage room . . . _students sneaking inside to smoke, gossip, make-out_ . . . Robin quirked an eyebrow beneath his mask and chuckled. A quick push to the door flung it wide open. He yelled out a loud _‘aha’_ and pointed a finger direct inside, but the room was empty . . .

Robin blushed. He brought a hand to his temple and rubbed, as he uttered out a muffled ‘ _fuck_ ’. The door slammed shut behind him, enough to echo out down the corridor, and the phone cut off as someone on the other end threw at him a string of complaints in an American accent. Robin rolled his eyes and strolled down the corridor, where offices sat on either side with various signs on the outside . . . _‘out’, ‘out’, ‘out’, ‘in’, ‘out’_ . . . there was little point checking the offices, but Robin back-tracked and went back to the storage room. He clenched his phone.

“When I catch you skiving, Junior -!”

He waved a fist in the air, but the gesture fell flat with the phone in hand. He dropped it to his side. He sighed. The corridor was cold and quiet, with only a faint tune of music drifting inward from an open window on the stairwell, and – after a few snatches of an old punk song – Robin nodded his head in time to the tune. He walked along the corridor and tried the first office door . . . _locked_. He continue to the next door . . . _locked_. Robin yawned. The phone in his hand rang again, and – lifting it upward – he scoffed to see the name. He answered gruffly:

“Yes, Ikemen?”

 _‘Ah, yes, Robin, it’s Ikemen Muscle! I need you to do me a favour, it’s urgent.’_ Ikemen paused. _‘I need you to go immediately to Buffaloman’s office and look for Mantaro, if he’s there then send Mantaro down to the lobby and keep Buffaloman busy. If it’s not, then keep Buffaloman busy. We have security on their way there now, but you’re the closest to the office.’_

“Ah, yes, it seems I _am_ closest,” sighed Robin. “Listen, I adore the wee lad, but I rather resent being sent on bloody time-wasting errands to find a truanting toddler. I’m the headmaster of the Hercules Factory and Chief of Staff, and I have much better things to do than –”

_‘Robin, go to Buffaloman’s office. Now!’_

“I also resent taking orders from someone half my age. Look, everyone is worried as Mantaro has been a bit low, but I _know_ my students and I _know_ he wouldn’t just randomly have some sort of breakdown. He’s probably just taken some time off, like he did after the Chojin Olympics, but – don’t worry – I’ll give him a walloping when I see him . . . worrying me like that.”

Robin strolled over to Buffaloman’s door. He cricked his neck and rolled back his shoulders, before slamming his hand onto the door-handle . . . _locked_. Robin scoffed. The phone awkwardly balanced between his mask and shoulder, as he used both hands to push down the handle with full force, but the lock remained sturdy and refused to budge. A high-pitched cry echoed out from inside, before being muffled and silenced. Robin pursed his lips and stepped back. The sliding name-plate read “in” on the door, but someone was clearly inside.

“That’s odd, the pissing door’s locked.”

 _‘Damn it.’_ A shuddered breath escaped Ikemen. _‘Break down the door.’_

Robin scoffed and laughed: “What? Why would I do that?”

_‘Meat came to me today to report a crime. It was a case of historical sexual abuse, with Buffaloman as the accused, and – right now – he’s with Ramenman . . . an inconsolable mess. I was worrying about this being “he said, they said” case, but then -? Robin, Chaos is saying that it’s not just Meat! They’re accusing Buffaloman of raping Mantaro, too!’_

The world stopped. Every drop of blood ran cold, as an icy cold sweat dripped down his back. It was as if water had slowly been poured over bare flesh, as his senses sparked alive and pain seared into every nerve, and – struggling to grab at the phone, as it fell from his shoulder – he panted and gasped and stumbled over his words. The office door moved in his vision . . . spinning and blurring and warping . . . he stumbled back and pressed a hand to his head. The offices were mostly sound-proofed . . . they each had sturdy locks . . .

“Why didn’t you fucking tell earlier? _Shit_!”

Robin ended the call. He rammed the phone into his pocket, before he paced back and forth with his hands pressed impossibly tight against his mask, and – as knuckles turned white and fingers grew numb – a low moan bubbled and boiled in his throat . . . it grew . . . it deepened . . . soon he was screaming so loud that his throat bled. He spun around and glared at the door. There was nothing else around him . . . his peripheral vision bled away, as his heart pounded in his chest . . . it drowned out all other sounds, blocked out the rest of his senses, and his scream died on his lips.

He kicked at the door. 

The hinges rattled. A splinter kicked the wood. He kicked again . . . _again_ . . . all his strength went into the final kick, as the lock broke with a shatteringly loud crack. The leftover remnants of the door smacked against the wall. A tumble of books dropped onto the floor, knocked over by the force of the blow. A terrible ache burned his eardrums. Blood pooled in his boot, as a splinter of wood pierced into his ankle. He stood with trembling fists at his sides.

It took time for his eyes to adjust. It took time for his brain to process events. There – pressed against the office desk – was Mantaro . . . _naked_. There was red marks and deep bruises over his flesh, with a visible bite-mark over his right nipple, and his head was turned towards the door . . . _mask pushed up to his nose, lips fumbling over a ‘please’ . . ._ hands were held tight in a breaking grip high above his head. A camera stood on a tripod. Buffaloman stood between his spread legs, as a small trickle of blood leaked from the impaled hole onto his erect member.

There was a sweat over both of them, as the room stank of sex and bodily fluids. It was hot enough that Robin felt sticky . . . uncomfortable . . . there was horror in those blue eyes, as tears rolled hot and fast down those cheeks . . . _horror_. This was not consensual. This was something darker . . . deeper . . . Mantaro gulped for breath, while tugging and tearing at the hands that held him, and his face contorted. It contorted with screams and begs for mercy. Robin whispered:

“ _You fucking asshole_!”

He dove forward. The world ceased to exist. There was nothing but the fast beating of his heart . . . _thump, thump, thump_. . . there was nothing except the blurred sight of that smarmy and snarling face, caught in the midst of such violence . . . nothing else . . . Robin clawed at those broad shoulders. He wrenched Buffaloman away from Mantaro, before tossing him down onto the cold tiles below . . . he was still half-erect . . . _he was still fucking aroused!_

Robin roared. He threw himself down on Buffaloman and punched . . . _again, again, again_ . . . each blow aimed at the smirking face with acute precision. The bone cracked beneath his knuckles. Blood spilled from the nose. The office was filled with the sound of skin against skin, as the blows continued until blood and teeth were spat onto the floor . . . the smile was gone . . . Robin continued until his wrists ached and his hands were red. He panted. Robin looked down at the bloody mess beneath him . . . broken, murmuring, barely conscious . . .

“Stay down,” warned Robin. “Move and I’ll kill you.”

He struggled to his feet, while he fought to catch his breath. Buffaloman lay sprawled naked on the floor, with his legs bent and arms thrown out like a crucifixion, and his head lay on the side with an eye so swollen that it was covered to the point of blindness. A few front teeth were missing, which only added to the deformed appearance of his face. The nose was almost flat. Robin licked at his lips and held back the urge to spit, as his breath collected moist on his mask, and – instead – delivered a sharp kick to Buffaloman’s ribcage with a roaring scream.

Buffaloman rolled onto his side with a gurgle. Robin stumbled back. The room was cold and quiet, with only the broken sobs echoing out about the office, and there . . . quiet, barely heard . . . a chanted _‘no, no, no’_ echoed out with soft hiccups. Bile rose to the back of his throat. It burned and scratched at his mouth, until it coated his tongue and forced him to swallow. Robin choked. He spluttered and retched, as his trembling hands came up to fiddle with the clutch of his cape.

Mantaro sat huddled in the corner of the office, with knees brought up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his legs, as he rocked back and forth. Robin fought back tears. They broke across his eyes and were hidden only by the mesh of his mask, as he awkwardly undid his cape and swept it around. He held it before him like a curtain. Robin swallowed a painful lump in his throat, as he slowly stepped around the desk and toward Mantaro. A heavy lump formed in his stomach, weighing it down with a cold sickness, and he stopped a few inches from Mantaro.

“Come on, lad,” whispered Robin. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“I – I – I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

“You can, Mantaro. You can.” Robin hissed. He slowly nodded. “Look, my boy, no one thought you would graduate the Hercules Factory, but you did. You never thought you’d find love, but you did. You have always had the world telling you what you _couldn’t_ do, including yourself, but each and every time you showed everyone . . . _you showed us all_. You can do this.

“This is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, Mantaro. I don’t even know what you must be feeling right now, but I know . . . as your teacher and your friend . . . _I know_ that you can get up and come with me. I know that you’re strong enough to do that. So get up, Junior.”

“I – I’m so sorry,” gasped Mantaro.

Mantaro struggled to his feet. He winced as weight shifted, and a trickle of blood ran down his thigh, enough to draw Robin’s gaze . . . the mask hid his stare, but Robin instinctively clenched and his eyes winced. The bruises would take weeks to heal, but the scars would last a lifetime. A tear dropped from the corner of his eye, as Robin swore and dove forward, and – wrapping the cape around Mantaro – he whispered over and over: _‘it’s okay, Mantaro’_. He pressed his mask to the top of his scalp in approximation of a kiss, before turning Mantaro around.

A few strained steps guided Mantaro around the camera, while keeping his back to Buffaloman, and Robin – locking eyes with the broken and bloody man – kept a tight hold on Mantaro, with his hands grasping tight to his mask and pressed the tearful face to his chest. Mantaro saw nothing. Robin coaxed him into the corridor, before quickly yanking the door closed behind him, and – signalling to guards at the end of the corridor – quickly dragged Mantaro away.

“I’m taking you to my office,” whispered Robin.

He unlocked his door, as he yelled to the guards to get the police and an ambulance. Mantaro was pushed inside, still wrapped in the cape that he clutched to his chest, and guided him to the _chaise longue_ in a far corner, before lying him down and touching his forehead. He was hot. It was clear even through his mask that he was running a fever, and Robin cursed while pulling down the front of the mask to cover the partially exposed face. He tossed his keys onto the table, as Ikemen peeked in through his office door. Robin shook his head.

Ikemen nodded and dipped back outside, before barking orders and stationing guards at each end of the corridor, and soon the area descended into chaos . . . everyone shouted and argued and rushed about, as a cacophony of footsteps and voices merged together. Robin fumbled around for an old blanket, one used on long nights in the office. He threw it over Mantaro and patted his head, before kneeling beside him and nudging his chin with a closed fist.

“I need you to wait here, okay?”

“ _I – I can’t . . .”_

“I’m going to leave the key on the table for you, Mantaro.” Robin patted his cheek. “You can lock the door behind me, and you can open it whenever you hear Chaos or Ikemen, okay? I’m going to make sure that security take Buffaloman is taken away, while we call the police to gather evidence from his office . . . we’re going to have to get you to a hospital, too.”

“No,” muttered Mantaro.

“ _Yes_ ,” spat Robin. “I was a failure as a father, but I won’t be a failure as a teacher. You need to at least get a basic check-up, even if you don’t want internal checks, _which is your right_ . . . you also need them to get photographs of these bruises for evidence, too. I don’t know how long this has been going on, but it stops _now_ . . . you finally get your life back, Mantaro.

“We’ll get you a therapist, too, but it’s also your choice to talk to them. It’ll be your choice, just like opening this door will be your choice when I leave. _You_ are in charge. _You_ get to say ‘no’. _You_ get to decide what happens going forward, okay? I’m here for you, Junior.”

“Where were you all those other times?”

Mantaro lifted his head. A broken smile twitched at his lips, as his eyes brimmed with tears. The smile was at odds with the sorrow, and his eye looked impossibly big when aimed at Robin, as if he were a mere child once more in the arms of his godfather. Robin held him. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the seventeen-year old, while biting so hard into his cheek that he tasted iron . . . _‘I should have known, I should have seen’ . . ._ Mantaro clung to him, as the cape and blankets fell down over his shoulders. The helpless voice of a child cried:

“Where were you before?”

“Oh, Junior . . .”

Robin held him tight, as Mantaro fell limp against him. The small cries and sobs broke through his obvious, until the place felt tainted . . . stained . . . the family photographs on the walls no longer brought comfort, and the records by the old player no longer brought hope. Robin ran a soft hand over Mantaro’s head and hair, while letting loose low and hushed sounds . . . the small body rocked and trembled and spluttered out incoherent words. Mantaro wept.

Robin wept with him.


	8. Chapter 8

_‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault . . .’_

_Chaos rocked. Tears streamed down his cheeks. It was cold in his bedroom . . . the window was thrown wide, as wind blew fast and strong into the small space . . . a scrap of fabric hung from the latch, black like a piece of a wrestling uniform. Sister stepped toward the window. A wrinkled hand reached out for the handle, where – down below – something sparkled. It caught her gaze. Sister lowered her head and pushed at her glasses with her finger._

_There – down below – sat an array of merchandise; a broken action-figure lay beside a smashed signed autograph, and a small piece of a horn sat atop a shredded poster from the eighties . . . Sister turned. The shelves had large gaps. A strange dust-pattern sat on one, where an item – left for so many years – was wrenched from its resting place. There was not a single trace of Buffaloman. It was as if he were exorcised from the bedroom, to the extent that the wastepaper basket was black with soot, as half-melted plastic and half-burned paper lined its sides._

_A tear ran down her cheek._

_Sister forced a smile, as she closed the window. The chill brought goose-bumps to her skin, as she shuddered and slowly walked to the centre of the room, and Chaos – crouched centre of the carpet – kept his head pressed against his knees. It took time to kneel beside him. A sharp ache wracked her joints, as a fire ran down each and every nerve. The ground was harsh against her hips and back, as she struggled to throw her arms around him. He was cold to the touch. Sister hushed him and kissed at his blond locks, as she pulled him close against her chest._

_He clung against her habit. It was as if he were a child again . . . the seven-year old gifted to them by Kinnikuman, who only left her sight on his summer visits to the palace . . . the boy with nightmares of genocide, the boy with panic attacks at any sign of violence . . . what memories did this revive? How far had the violence of Lightning and Thunder extended? Sister rocked with him, as she rubbed her hand in light circles upon his back, and whispered:_

_‘You did nothing wrong, my boy.’_

* * *

Bibimba sang low an old lullaby . . .

The words tumbled from her lips with an old familiarity, as the lyrics – long since sung – fell upon all the right notes and moved at the right tempo . . . Mantaro smiled. A speck of sleep gathered in the corner of his closed eye, while his hands pulled the blankets up to his mouth, and his lips sucked on the edge of the fabric much as was his habit in childhood. There was no pain. There was no fear. There was only the young man that was once a small boy, who lay curled on the futon with soft snores and murmured words spoken in a dreamlike state.

Bibimba kissed at his forehead.

Each time he stirred, her hand would run across his mask. The soft brushing of fingertips would bring a flutter to his eyelids and a half-formed ‘ _mama’_ , and her lullaby would soften just enough to barely be heard, as he returned to drooling a little at the odd angle of how he slept. Suguru sat opposite Meat beneath the _kotatsu,_ as both shared a large pot of green tea, and together they kept their heads low and remained silent. They would flinch when Mantaro stirred. Suguru would struggle to free himself from the _kotatsu_ , as he intended to crawl over. Bibimba shook her head.

The steam from the tea drifted upward. It created strange and beautiful shapes, as she leaned down to press a lingering kiss on his soft cheek, and – with a whispered _‘I love you, son’_ – Bibimba walked towards the _kotatsu_ and sat between Meat and Suguru. No one said a word, but Meat slid a hot cup of tea in her direction and Suguru squeezed at her thigh. The broken smile faded from her lips, as tears pricked at her eyes and her cheeks flushed. 

“He doesn’t want to go to the police,” whispered Bibimba.

“I’m not sure he has any choice,” said Meat. “He’s still a minor, plus they were caught in the act, so to speak. I think the police _have_ to press charges, especially when you’ve got Robin Mask as a key witness, and there are video-tapes, too . . . hell, that counts as _child pornography_! Even if they could somehow look past the rape, they can’t look past _that_.”

“Ikemen says that Mantaro can refuse to give testimony,” mumbled Suguru. “It’s – It’s not a good option, though, as Buffaloman is still maintaining it was a ‘consensual’ relationship . . . _consensual_! Mantaro’s still beneath the age of consent in Japan, and Buffaloman was still in a position of trust as his teacher, but he – he – he wants to claim it was fucking _consensual_?”

Suguru slammed a fist onto the table. The cups rattled and tea splashed over the sides. A few droplets caught the light just right, so that an array of colours and patterns caught in the distorted reflections they offered, but – with a swipe of his hand – Suguru brushed them away, before pressing a trembling palm to the tabletop. Bibimba slid her hand toward him, before interlocking their fingers and squeezing him tight, and his head turned to face her with wide eyes, as tears pricked across the surface. He spoke again, but his voice was strained and weak:

“It’d drag out any trials, and it’s unlikely he’ll be found guilty over what happened to Meat, so we’d be relying solely on convictions based on child pornography. If – If Mantaro is willing to testify, it would make it a hell of a lot harder for Buffaloman to argue ‘consent’, and – with all the other evidence – we could likely persuade him to plead ‘guilty’.”

“What about the videos?” Bibimba asked. “Don’t they prove it was rape?”

“The one they found isn’t – well – concrete . . . apparently Mantaro only started begging for help when he saw Robin, and the recording was started _after_ penetration, so it’s Buffaloman’s word against Mantaro’s . . . if Mantaro doesn’t say anything, Buffaloman’s the only version of events on record. They can’t find any other tapes, but they do have a search warrant.”

“It’s – It’s far from ideal,” choked Meat. “They’ve let Buffaloman out on bail, too. If Mantaro doesn’t testify, Buffaloman will get a much lighter sentence . . . assuming he spends time in prison at all, but if he speaks out -? It’d pretty much guarantee hard prison-time.”

“But – But Mantaro isn’t ready to speak out yet . . .”

“No, no he’s not . . . that’s the problem.”

Mantaro stirred. He rolled onto his back, as he let loose a loud snore, and the blankets tangled about his legs, as his limbs splayed out in all directions. It was usually when Chaos would tell him to shut up, or Meat would tuck him properly into the futon, but this time they let him lie and each one smiled in turn. Suguru brought Bibimba’s hand to his lips, where he placed a chaste kiss to the soft skin. Mantaro looked so young . . . so small, so helpless . . . Meat sniffed and wiped at his nose, while he poured everyone some more tea and said:

“We should focus on Mantaro’s recovery.”

The tea was bitter when she brought it to her lips. It warmed her free hand, as she held onto Suguru with their hands clasped between them, and the steam wafted before her eyes, as the radio entered her consciousness . . . _‘– all we can say, at this time, is that Buffaloman has been let go from our employ –’._ Bibimba winced. Meat followed her gaze, before he swore and raced to the radio and pressed a button. It turned off. The silence was worse than the background noise, as every breath of Mantaro’s was emphasised and echoed out about the small shack.

“I want to bring him home,” said Suguru.

“Mantaro would hate that,” replied Bibimba. “He has friends here. He has his studies with the others, just as he has training with the others, and he has training and patrols and matches the rest of the time. He has a _life_ here. It’s something he’ll have to give up eventually, just like the other Idol Chojin went home to live their lives, but not this young . . . not now.”

“And why should Buffaloman steal away his life?” Meat asked.

“Precisely! I think we should up security around Beverly Park, and I found an excellent therapist that specialises in chojin psychology, particularly with external traumas, and it would go a long way in helping Mantaro to process events and perhaps gain some closure. I want our son to maintain a routine and carry on life as normal, so he doesn’t sink further into depression. It’s less about letting Buffaloman win, and more about letting Mantaro know that he’s lost nothing.”

“There’s still Buffaloman,” said Suguru. “He’s still out there and –”

“Ikemen fired him,” interrupted Meat. “He’s been banned from all properties owned by the International Chojin Committee, Muscle Clan property, and Planet Kinniku. Robin Mask is reworking all rules and protocols involving chojin staff, particularly regarding students, and – effectively as immediately – students are not allowed alone in staff offices with doors closed.”

Suguru stood. The table rocked with the force of the action. He paced back and forth about the shack, with his back hunched from arthritis, and he held onto one wrist behind his back, while keeping his head low and staring hard at the floor. Meat struggled to make small-talk . . . _‘we painted since the king used to live here’, ‘we got a new ring’, ‘that smell in the far left corner finally went too’_. . . Bibimba nodded and smiled. The bulk of words were barely heard, but soon it was a moot point as Suguru huffed and stopped dead. He scratched at his mask.

“Isn’t there a saying in English about bolting the stable doors after the horse is gone?” He kicked at the floorboards. “Okay, so Buffaloman won’t hurt him again, but he’s _still_ hurting right _now_ , and I – I – I don’t know how we’re supposed to make it better . . . how we’re going to undo that level of trauma. It’s not fair . . . it’s not fair that Mantaro has to live with this forever . . .”

“Honey,” whispered Bibimba.

“That _bastard_ won’t be the one with nightmares! Do you remember when Chaos would stay with us over the holidays? He hated to be touched, hated to be left alone . . . he was obsessed with old chojin fights, taking comfort in ‘justice’, and he got those bad panic attacks, too . . .”

“And look how far he’s come . . . look how he is now . . .”

“He had amnesia. Maybe it’s a blessing he doesn’t remember everything . . .”

Tears fell. Suguru turned to her and reached out a trembling hand, which lingered in the air between them, and – with a whispered _‘Suguru’_ – Bibimba quickly stood and raced to his side, where her arm threw around him with a warm embrace. The bare skin was nothing like in his youth, but then neither was hers beneath her silken dresses. He pressed his face against her neck, where he sobbed against her soft skin, and she ran her fingers over his scalp, while he mumbled incoherent words and rocked against her with wracked sobs. He sniffed.

“I remember the first time I held Mantaro,” laughed Suguru. “We tried for so long to have a baby, and everyone else had children already . . . a few even had multiple kids, and Ataru was complaining that he’d have to start having some, so they’d still be an heir . . . we tried IVF, sperm donation, acupuncture, herbal remedies, surgeries . . . nothing worked! And then . . .”

“Then our Mantaro was born.”

Suguru pulled back. The smile on his lips sparkled with tears, but the tears finally stopped in their descent and his eyes twinkled in the low light. He bounced on his heels. He clasped his hands together and tilted his head to the side, as his eyes fell half-lidded, and he angled his gaze towards the futon, where – on the floor – Mantaro sucked at his thumb. Bibimba giggled with her hand before her lips, as she leaned into Suguru and rested her head against his chest. They stood together, with arms around warm bodies, as they watched their son in his peaceful sleep.

“I know I should have trained him like I was trained, and like how Terryman and Robin Mask trained their boys, but I him and I -!” Suguru shook his head. “I knew I never wanted him to feel any pain, and I never ever wanted to be anything other than his ‘daddy’. It was my job to protect him and nurture him and raise him, because he was so beautiful and helpless and perfect . . .

“I destroyed all my old records and tapes, and I hid all the old trophies, and I focussed only on being the best father to a boy that could be anything in the world . . . he wanted to be a lawyer, even though his grades were so awful, but Ramenman helped to tutor him and Pops helped him with his homework. He was so excited to get his first ‘D’! We threw a party for him, remember? My dad said we shouldn’t celebrate a bad grade, but he worked _so_ damned hard . . .

“I look at him and I don’t see a seventeen-year old brat. I look at him and I see a small boy that would ride horsey on my back, and who would stay up late telling scary stories with a flashlight to Chaos, and who would tattle on me when I added too much salt to my food at dinner. How could anyone look at him, _see_ the pain in his eyes, and _continue_ to hurt him?”

“A monster with no conscience,” spat Meat.

“He was one of my best friends, too. He saw a small boy that depended on him, who _trusted_ him, and he used him for sexual gratification . . . a moment of pleasure for a lifetime of trauma, and not one single fucking regret over what happened! He did this at least twice, right? How long was the general abuse going on for, too? Did the tears not matter to him? Did he not -?”

Suguru broke. The tears ran fast and free, as he gulped down choked breaths. Meat came over to them and leaned on tiptoe, so that his small arms could wrap around the muscular waist, and Suguru moved a hand from Bibimba, where it dropped down onto Meat. He ran his fingers over the small head, while he mumbled incoherent words over and over, and – with a shuddered breath – he pulled away from them both . . . he stopped. A silence fell over him. The tears ceased, as his hands clenched into fists so tight that blood dripped from his palms. 

“ _I want to kill him_ ,” spat Suguru.

“Let’s just focus on Mantaro for now,” whispered Meat.

“He’s my baby boy!” Suguru sniffed. “I’ll love him until the day I die, and he’ll always be my beautiful baby with the biggest blue eyes . . . I see them filled with tears and it’s like being soccer-punched in the gut, like someone’s physically winded me, and I want to make it better. I want to wipe away all his pain and make him happy again. I want him to smile.”

“He’ll smile again, King!” Meat wiped away a tear. “You were a good friend to me, and I – I might not have told you what happened, but you always supported me and cared for me and made me feel like I mattered . . . some nights when I couldn’t cope, you made me feel like I had something to live for, like it was okay to be sad or angry, because I’d be okay again.”

“Meat . . . I’m so sorry that I never –”

“You didn’t know, but we know for Mantaro. We can be here for him and support him, and we can get him therapy and make sure he heals okay. You’re a brilliant father, and you’re a brilliant friend, and there’s no one alive who loves Mantaro more, King. Let’s just focus on the here and now, and we talk about my trauma some other time . . . Mantaro is our priority now.”

Suguru threw his arms around them. Mantaro stirred on the futon, as the sheets tangled about his feet and legs, and in his dreams he laughed . . . _‘Chaos, not here, Sister will see!’_. . . Bibimba smiled and shook her head, making a mental note to lecture him when back to full health. A moonbeam shone in through the window, catching at his soft face and providing a beautiful glow about his warm features, and it took all her strength to fight back the urge to tuck him into the futon again, as he mumbled and giggled and lifted his hand in the air only to drop it again.

Meat slowly pulled away, as he tidied the small shack. The calendar on the countertop was marked with visible ‘shifts’ . . . Kid would visit tomorrow, Seiuchin the day after . . . therapy, check-ups, interviews . . . Bibimba tore her head away, lest the tears fall afresh. A soft sigh escaped her lips, as she ran her hands over Suguru’s chest and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He leaned into her touch and nuzzled against her, while they held each other in the darkness.

“He’s still my baby boy,” choked Suguru.

“I know,” said Bibimba. “I know.”


	9. Chapter 9

_‘He’s where?’_

_Chaos blinked. He stood on tiptoe, so as to gain a clear and unobstructed view. The shack was in perfect condition, with every surface polish and every item put away, but there – on the futon yet to be rolled up for the new day – Suguru sat cross-legged beneath a blanket. It was wrapped around his waist, while he panted heavily for breath and waved with a trembling hand. Chaos blushed. He dropped back on his heels and looked at Bibimba in the doorway._

_The apron fitted her well, but her arms and legs were bare. Chaos turned around to see Meat running laps with Terryman, and Natsuko taking photographs of blooming trees . . . they had the shack to themselves . . . alone . . . Chaos let loose a high-pitched yelp. He spun around. Chaos covered his eyes and stuttered a few muttered apologies, while the door was pulled mostly closed and Bibimba blocked the small gap with half her body. The quiet between them was broken only by the snaps of the camera and grunts from the training run, until she giggled behind her hand._

_‘Kid asked to take Mantaro to a karaoke bar,’ said Bibimba. ‘You know what our Mantaro is like, and how he always used to sneak out to party and drink and get into trouble . . . we thought it’d be good for him to get back into his old routine and be treated normally by his friends. Seiuchin said that you’d know which bar? He said it’s the “usual” one.’_

_‘Oh, I didn’t think Mantaro would be ready for that.’ Chaos furrowed his brow. ‘He’s been so down . . . doesn’t like to be touched, doesn’t like to be alone . . . I know what the panic attacks are like . . . do you think he’d even want me there? Will it be okay?’_

_Bibimba stood as high as possibly on the tips of her feet. A pair of hands pushed him down by his shoulders, so that she could press a chaste press to the crown of his hair, and she slapped the back of his head with a gentle smack. He turned around and pouted. Chaos rubbed the back of his head, while Bibimba dipped back inside the shack . . . a giggle and a squeal indicated something inappropriate occurred . . . she returned blushing with a handwritten note, where a kiss was visibly pressed to the paper and a happy figure drawn in the corner. Bibimba chirped:_

_‘Mantaro asked specifically for you, and so did the others.’_

_The paper was warm to the touch. It was written mostly by Mantaro, but the others had tacked on various messages . . . “dude, hurry up”, “last one there buys the next round”, “where’ve you been hiding?” . . . he folded the paper and slid it into his pocket. A smile broke over his lips, before he was swung around and Bibimba kissed his cheek. He swatted her away with a blush, but she ignored his mumbled complaints about not being a child any longer, and laughed out:_

_‘Go have fun, Chaos.’_

_* * *_

The television burst with colour. A familiar image of Seiko Matsuda flickered across the screen, while subtitles revealed lyrics about love and life, and the beautiful melody was broken only by the out-of-tune voice of Gazelleman and Seiuchin in out-of-sync unison. The small booth was bright with overhead lights and flashing phone-screens, and a sharp smell of fast-food and spilled beer filled every inch of the room. Chaos gently pulled the door closed behind him.

Kid sat on one of the sofas, with his feet resting on the low coffee-table. He nursed a bottle of beer, while Mantaro sat opposite in his casual attire . . . his arms were wrapped around his legs, his chin rested on his knees, and his fingers toyed with the hem of his jeans . . . Chaos slid slowly onto the seat beside him. The cushion dipped under his weight, enough for Mantaro to lift his head upward and lock their gazes. A smile broke over him. Mantaro dropped his feet onto the floor and leaned against Chaos, before holding him tight about his waist.

A chuckle escaped Kid, as Mantaro rested his head on Chaos’ shoulder. Chaos ran his fingers slowly over Mantaro’s back, with long and slow movements away from hips or buttocks, and – while intimate – every new trigger was kept in mind. Seiuchin flicked the television on pause, and Gazelleman sat on one side of Kid, as he offered them an array of vegetarian delights. Chaos shook his head, as he pressed a kiss to Mantaro’s head and whispered ‘ _I love you’_.

“Brother’s still a bit down,” said Seiuchin.

He plopped down next to Kid. The sheer weight caused Gazelleman and Kid to bounce on the cushions, as the sofa creaked with a dangerous echo, but – as Seiuchin smiled – Chaos smiled back, as if everything would be okay again. A low hum echoed out from the pause-screen; it was some modern pop tune whose words he knew, but whose name escaped him. Mantaro breathed low and deep, with his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, and Gazelleman slid a tray of food into the centre of the table. The scent was strong and made Chaos’ mouth water.

“It’s been a long two weeks,” said Gazelleman.

Chaos eyed the vegetarian dips and sides, as well as the chicken wings and fries. He twitched his fingers on Mantaro’s back, while he fidgeted from side to side, and – as everyone remained in an awkward silence – Mantaro rolled his eyes and snatched at a pizza slice . . . _‘it’s been two weeks since I was raped, not since I died, lighten up’._ Kid burst into laughter. Chaos smiled. The misguided attempt at humour brought them back to life, as everyone picked and pawed at the food and made small talk through full mouths, and Mantaro simply nibbled at the pizza.

“I’m feeling a bit better,” said Mantaro.

“Yeah, but you ain’t back t’ normal yet,” added Kid. “I miss the way you’d bicker with me, like a pair o’ bulls during the mating season. Now it’s like yer afraid t’ say something wrong, like ah’m gonna hurt you or somethin’ . . . I ain’t heard you shout once today! Come t’ think of it, it’s been ages since y’ last shouted. It ain’t been right for ages now.”

“Are you able to forgive us, Brother?” Seiuchin sniffed and smiled. “I just thought you were down in the dumps, because of the Demon Seed and so many tough battles . . . I can’t believe I didn’t see any of the signs! It’s horrifying how common abuse is in the _chojin_ community; Bone Cold was traumatised enough to turn bad, and there was Kevin Mask, and Checkmate must have seen all sorts on the streets, but . . . I just never put two and two together.”

“It kind of all makes sense in hindsight,” added Gazelleman. “I don’t really feel the guilt like these two, as I know it’s something Buffaloman made an effort to hide, and Mantaro was hiding it, too, so how _could_ I have known? Still, I feel guilt now . . . confusion, too . . . if we talk about it, are we just making it worse by bringing up the pain? If we ignore it, are we just trivialising it and dismissing what happened? I never know what to say to make it better.”

“It must be worse fer Chaos,” muttered Kid. “If we make y’ uncomfortable, Mantaro, you just up and tell us, alright? I mean, we used to slap ya upside the head when you were a dumb-ass, or we’d hold y’ hand when you were sad . . . now I ain’t ever sure whether ah’m triggering you or helping you or what. I hate that the asshole’s done this to you . . . _to us_.”

Mantaro sighed. He pulled back enough from Chaos to sit upright, while he stared down at the cold slice of pizza that was filled to the brim with toppings, and his usual appetite was still long gone, as he picked off a topping piece by piece and ate with slow chews. Seiuchin made to move, as if he were going to jump across the table to sit beside Mantaro. He stopped. It was that same hesitation . . . _did Buffaloman jump like that? Did Mantaro want space? Would it be worse to stay put, as if they were treating Mantaro differently?_. . . Seiuchin frowned.

The silence returned in a way it never did before. It was Mantaro who once again broke the silence, as he flicked a piece of pineapple towards Kid and joked about it tasting worse than Texan cuisine, and – as Kid flushed red and puffed out his cheeks – Mantaro laughed . . . _‘that’s the first time you’ve reacted like you usually would’._ He flicked another piece, which Kid smacked out of the air before it could strike his face. The two locked eyes. They laughed. It was a small thing, but the others let loose sighs no one knew were being held.

“I think that’s the hardest part for me, too,” said Mantaro. “I want to move forward, you know? It’s just everything I do feels it’s got this shadow over it, like . . . I don’t know . . . some days I’m laughing and happy and everything is good, but then I feel bad about feeling good, because am I forgetting what he did? Is it like I’m saying it’s all okay now, when it’s not?”

“Mantaro, you know it’s okay to recover at your own pace, right?” Chaos asked. “I mean, I know it’s not the same, but . . . I still get panic attacks and flashbacks to that night my parents died, and sometimes I think I might never get over it, but maybe that’s the point? Maybe it’s less about ‘getting over it’, but more about just letting the wound scar over so it doesn’t hurt any more. It’s always there. It’s always a part of you. It’s just it slowly goes numb over time.”

“Heck,” added Kid. “It ain’t the same with Kevin, but you see how people talking about his daddy gets ‘im all riled up? He nearly lost the fight with the Demon Seed, an’ it caused tensions with Warsman, too. He ain’t _over_ it, and sometimes it still hurts him, but he functions an’ copes an’ life is good to him. You got t’ give yourself permission to live again.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” moaned Mantaro. “I know it’s still super early, but I just don’t see a way out . . . it’s hard to keep hope, ‘cause I go to kiss Chaos and I get these flashbacks and I -! I got anxious being in the shack alone with my pops . . . _my father_ . . . how the fuck is that?”

Mantaro threw the leftover pizza onto the table. He slammed his face into his hands, as his fingers clawed at his mask. It left visible lines on the fabric. There were no tears, only a desperate growl that turned into a broken moan, and soon he collapsed forward, until he was lying on his knees with his head facing to the side. The blue of his eyes was clear, but it shone with unshed tears and his lips trembled. Chaos reached slowly towards him, where he stroked at the exposed lock of brown hair, and Mantaro whispered to him and him alone:

“What if people get impatient with me or hate me?”

“It’ll be okay,” said Chaos.

A low scoff escaped Mantaro. It was quiet enough to almost be missed, as he slowly sat upright and glared at Chaos . . . something deep, something dark . . . his eyes moved from person to person, as he took the time to examine each one in turn. He jumped to his feet. He wrapped his arms around his torso, where the tug against his sweater pulled down the collar about his neck, and – with his lips twitching between a frown and a smile – Chaos noted that the bruises were almost gone. Mantaro swallowed. He raised a trembling hand to his mouth and choked out:

“When? _When_ will it be okay?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“I – I just – I just don’t . . . _fuck_!” Mantaro screamed. “You know it was super rough working out that I was bisexual? It was even harder when you broke up with Rinko . . . it rocked our whole friendship group, and everyone told me that it wouldn’t work out, because you’re just some kid and I’m still growing up, but we stuck together and it’s been a year and I . . . I . . .

“We – We shared so many firsts together . . . I didn’t think anyone else would know what you know about me, like you’d be my first and last and only, but now -? Now someone else knows what I look like and how I taste and how I . . . I . . . I feel . . . he stole all that from us.”

“No, Brother,” said Seiuchin. “He stole nothing . . .”

Seiuchin stood. He came around the table to hold Mantaro. The two gloved hands took a hold of muscular upper arms, while he forced a bright smile that stopped the tears before they started, and Chaos – with a sniff – smiled back at them. Seiuchin rubbed his hands up and down, warming the muscle before leaning forward. He embraced Mantaro. The tension fled Mantaro’s muscles, as he threw his arms around stocky shoulders, and he dug his hands so deep into Seiuchin’s shirt that the fur ruffled beneath his fingers. Seiuchin patted his head.

“There are still things he’ll never know,” chirped Seiuchin. “He won’t know what it’s like to see you laugh so hard that milk comes out your nose, because Gazelleman made you laugh! He won’t know what it’s like to fall asleep with his head on your lap, because – like with Jacqui – he got drunk and trusted you enough to sleep like that. He won’t know what it’s like to make dinner with you, like Meat always does, and the fun of racing to see who can cut the most carrots!”

“Oh yeah, and that ain’t t’ mention sex stuff,” added Kid. “I mean, I’ll admit that ah kind o’ get around a bit, but like . . . ya wouldn’t get to hear screams of pleasure during rape, or the way yer partner digs their feet behind your butt to pull ya closer, or how you lock eyes after with smiles and giggles and kisses an’ whisper ‘I love you’. That’s just you and Chaos.”

“And I’ll never stop loving you,” promised Chaos. “Even if he took everything from you, he still can’t take who _you_ are and what _you_ mean to us . . . you’re still ‘Mantaro’ in mind and soul. If there’s one thing he can’t take away -? It’s the things that make you just . . . ‘ _you’_.”

“Yer our Mantaro, always will be, kiddo!”

A bright smile broke over Mantaro. He pulled back from Seiuchin to wipe at his nose, before he plopped back down onto the sofa beside Chaos, and his hands – trembling and pale – fussed around with his pockets. Seiuchin sat opposite again. The others made small-talk, as they watched Mantaro with less-than-subtle stares, and soon Mantaro pulled out a phone from his pocket. He clasped it in both hands. The tip of his finger spelled out his password . . . _Chaos’ birthday_ . . . before he went onto the text application. He drew in a deep breath and said:

“There . . . There’s something else . . .”

Mantaro pressed a button. He shoved the phone toward Chaos. It was a struggle to catch the device, as his hands fumbled enough to drop the phone several times, and – finally catching it with a firm grip – Chaos lifted it high before his face. The image was blurred at first, with the camera shaking and rocking until it finally settled on a blur of movement. It was hard to decipher . . . _a rhythmic motion in shadow, a slapping sound of sweaty skin . . . ‘take it, bitch’ . . . grunts and groans and grimaces_. . . Chaos paled. He gasped in a broken voice:

“How – How did he send this?”

A hand quickly snatched at the phone. Mantaro turned off the device, before slamming it into his pocket . . . Kid paled, Seiuchin frowned . . . Gazelleman was on his feet, muttering with an unusually thick accent something that sounded like insults. They might not have seen the video, but they heard the sounds . . . they knew the voices . . . Gazelleman made to dive out of the door, until Seiuchin caught him hard by his wrist and dragged him down onto the sofa, and Mantaro muttered that it was fine . . . not to get too worked up . . . before he forced a fake smile.

“It’s from a different number each time,” whispered Mantaro.

“Mantaro, you have to report this!” Gazelleman shouted.

“What? No. _No_!” Mantaro shook his head. “I – I don’t even want Chaos seeing half of these, so there’s no way that I want anyone else seeing them! Who’d even look at them? A bunch of police officers and lawyers and maybe my parents . . . _oh god_ . . . I would have a bunch of strangers looking at my naked body and seeing what he did to me, like they’re a part of it . . .”

“I think it’d only be one or two special officers at most that would see the video. I imagine they would destroy the videos, too, once the case was finished . . . no one more than what was absolutely necessary would have to see what was sent, and it’d be evidence against him.”

“It’d be like getting raped all over again . . . _their eyes on me_ . . .”

A cold sweat broke over Chaos. He clenched his fists and swayed where he sat . . . _their eyes on me . . . the cold glassy eyes of his father staring out . . . stepping backwards with small legs, two giant men looming over him, tiny heart pounding in his ears . . ._ Chaos squeaked. He forced a hand over his mouth, while counting on each inhalation and exhalation. No, he would not have a panic attack. Not now. Chaos threw out his hand to grab onto Mantaro’s thigh, where Mantaro took it and squeezed back, and together they faced the others side-by-side.

“I’ve been seeing him about, too,” said Mantaro.

“Wait. What?” Seiuchin asked. “ _Where_?”

“Out and about . . . I thought I was paranoid at first, as I’d see him out in the crowds when we drove through for therapy, but soon I was seeing him in alleys when I’d go on runs with Meat or in store aisles when I’d shop with Rinko . . . he started sending me photos of him outside places I’d be, too. Look . . . it’s him walking past this karaoke bar. It’s . . . It’s creepy.”

Mantaro pulled out his phone. He flashed it around the group. The photograph that came up was listed under an unknown number, but the text above said ‘ _I know where you are’_ , and the image itself showed the karaoke bar with Buffaloman in front with a large grin. Gazelleman was at once on his feet again, but Kid muttered out that he was probably long gone . . . all that was left was the photograph to prove that he had ever been there. Chaos climbed to his feet, before he buried his hands into his hair and yanked hard. He shouted out so hard that spit flew out:

“We have to go to the police, Mantaro!”

“ _No_ ,” snapped Mantaro. “If I do that, he says he’ll release everything online! Okay, so it’s illegal, and I bet most of it would be taken down, but what of the few creeps saving the videos and releasing them to the dark web? I don’t want to have thousands of people jacking off to my rape! I don’t want to walk down the street and see someone chuckle and not know _why_!”

“He can’t – he can’t . . . he can’t _do_ this! _Fuck_!”

Chaos stormed out of the room. He slammed the door behind him, as he paced back-and-forth along the small corridor . . . a poster of the menu graced one wall, while a group of girls giggled from an adjacent room, and the lights flickered from a stairwell in the distance . . . life went on around them, but life stopped for Chaos. The door clicked open behind him, as Mantaro slipped outside into the corridor. Gazelleman screamed obscenities from inside, while Seiuchin tried to keep the peace, and soon the door was closed once more. Silence fell between them.

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Mantaro

A few steps brought Mantaro to Chaos’ side. He slowly slid his arm up Chaos’ arm, before he squeezed and rubbed in light circles, and Chaos – with tears brewing in his eyes – spun around and gently took the hand with a light touch, before pressing kisses to the palm. The kisses continued over and over, as they made their way up wrist and forearm and neck, until they finally ended with a chaste kiss to soft lips. They parted with sad smiles, as Chaos held Mantaro’s cheeks between his hands. He pressed another kiss to his nose.

“It’s not you,” said Chaos.

“You want me to say something, don’t you?”

“No, I just want to turn back the clock.” Chaos winced. “If I hadn’t been so _stupid_ , he would never have been that angry at you that he’d _rape_ you like that . . . I – I should have gone straight to Robin or Ramenman, and you’d – you’d – you’d never have gone through that! The sexual abuse would have just _stopped_ and you’d not have been through worse and –”

“It’s not your fault, Chaos.”

“No, it’s _his_ fault! It’s _my_ fault that you’re here comforting me, though . . . I’m the one who should be comforting you, but I just -! I feel so _helpless_. I want to make everything better, but I don’t know what to do, and I hate myself . . . I hate myself, because I made things so much worse and I can’t make them better and I can’t stop him from stalking you and -!

“I’m scared. I’m scared he’s going to stalk you and threaten you, and eventually it’ll just turn into blackmail . . . what is he going to ask you to do to keep it secret? This going on and on and on has to be worse than just saying ‘release the videos then’, right? I don’t know . . .”

Mantaro shrugged and smiled. He winked and made a v-sign with his hands, as if he were posing for a picture, and he opened his mouth wide with a joke already on his lips, before his eyes met Chaos’ gaze and something passed between them . . . Mantaro dropped his shoulders. The jovial act made was for serious emotion, as he stepped closer to Chaos and kissed at his cheek. The kiss lingered with warm breath and soft lips, before it pulled back with a genuine smile, as Mantaro brushed away a stray lock of blond hair from Chaos’ face, and said in a low whisper:

“If he tries to blackmail me, I’ll – I’ll . . . I’ll tell someone.”

“Just . . . Just be careful, okay, Mantaro?”

Chaos threw his arms around Mantaro, as he pulled him flush against him. The warm body felt good against him, but the muscle mass was less than before and there was less strength in the hold, almost like one coming off from a long illness. Chaos buried his face against Mantaro’s head, where he breathed deep the scent of his shampoo. The long fingers of Mantaro toyed with the hem of his shirt, as Mantaro breathed low and deep, and Chaos blinked back his tears.

“Just be careful . . .”


	10. Chapter 10

“Ten more laps, Jade!”

Robin blew sharply on his whistle. He placed his hands on his hips, while slowly angling his head to follow the young man who paced the perimeter of the stadium, and – smiling beneath his mask – nodded to see that his speed increased. Brocken Junior stood at the other corner, where he cheered as Jade crossed by . . . next would be Ramenman, stationed diagonally out of sight, and then there would be Wolfman, who stared intently at his stop-watch.

A cool breeze washed across the grounds. The main group of students kept pace together, with Kid just a little ahead and Seiuchin just a little behind, but Mars – eyes locked on Jade – ran with a sprint that put the others at a great distance, and he only slowed down when he was just ahead of Jade. The two of them entered into a personal race. Brocken yelled loudly: _‘this is a marathon, not a sprint’_. Robin covered his mouth. He chuckled. The two darted around the corner, where Brocken shook his fist after them, and soon the others picked up speed in turn.

Robin shook his head, as he looked around the stadium grounds. The outside entrance comprised of steep steps with a paved walkway leading to the street; cherry blossoms and food stands lined either side, while green parkland sat just behind with a few stray picnics, and the sun caught on a water feature just before the street entrance. In a few hours, thousands of people would flood the entrance to the grand foyer for the exhibition matches, but for now it was silent.

“Sir,” called a voice. “I think you want to check out over there.”

Robin jolted. He glanced to his left. Gazelleman stood with a towel around his neck, as he held onto both ends and desperately panted. There was a shine of sweat across his forehead, while his back was hunched and muscles tensed, and – quickly checking his stopwatch – Robin noted that Gazelleman has easily beaten the others, despite their competitive drive. He smiled beneath his mask and slapped a hand on Gazelleman’s shoulder. Gazelleman glared. Robin asked:

“What’s the matter, lad?”

“Can I be frank?” Gazelleman flared his nostrils. “It’s been four weeks, and I know trials and investigations can take time, but I don’t see how you can expect Mantaro to return to work and his usual training regime, when you have that _fucking asshole_ lurking around. What happened to security? What happened to the restraining order? Buffaloman’s been watching us all this time.”

“What? Where have you seen him?”

“You know he’s been stalking Mantaro, right? I’m not supposed to say anything, but he’s sending photographs and lurking in crowds . . . right now? He’s over there by the souvenir stand, just behind the tree at the rear of it. If you don’t deal with it, I’ll kill him with my own hands.”

A cold sweat ran over his flesh. The fabric of his cape stuck to his bare skin, while his hands clenched so hard that crescent-shaped cuts broke over his palm. He slowly turned his head and followed Gazelleman’s gaze, where – in the distance – a familiar figure leaned against the trunk of the tree and lurked in the shadows. Robin touched at Gazelleman’s shoulder. He squeezed. A low exhale of breath escaped him, as his nostrils flared beneath his mask, and his lips pursed into a tight line, while he squared his shoulders. The beating of his heart echoed in his ears.

“I’ll deal with that pillock,” spat Robin. “Go tell Ramenman to take the students inside, and have Ikemen increase the external security detail. I also want the CCTV footage, as well as the footage from the security cameras, and I want everything reported and forwarded to the police.”

“Will do,” said Gazelleman. “And give him a punch from me, will you?”

“Don’t bloody tempt me, my boy.”

Gazelleman laughed. It was a dark and broken sound. He saluted Robin with a quick jerk of his hand, before running in the opposite direction to the training students, and – as he circled around to Ramenman – the students turned their heads with curious interest. They passed him with their usual speed, forcing him to wait until he could move forward. Every step was loud on the paved slabs, as he marched forward and dipped between two stalls. He moved onto the grass. It was soft underfoot, and still damp from the morning dew, leaving footprints behind him as he walked.

Robin marched at a quick speed . . . faster . . . _faster_ . . . his legs ran, his heart pounded . . . the world ceased to exist around him, as all he saw was the tall figure clad in a long coat, and his vision sparkled with bright colours and incoherent shapes. His fist lifted. It brought a spark of panic . . . adrenaline . . . his body was controlled like a puppet with strings, as a man possessed, and his knuckles struck hard against a chiselled jawbone. Pain ran through his hand.

Buffaloman tumbled onto the grass. He clutched at his jaw, while shakily pushing himself up onto one hand, and climbed upward with several swaying motions. Robin stepped back. He paced back and forth, while clutching his swollen knuckles, and – biting into the inside of his cheeks – fought back the urge to beat the man yet again. Buffaloman fell back against the trunk, as he opened and closed and pulled at his mouth in all directions. The lip was cut. It dripped blood down onto his trembling hand and the lapel of his coat. Robin hissed out:

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

A loud scoff was the only response. Buffaloman spat out a mixture of blood and mucus onto the grass, while he glared over his and toward Robin, and – from the other side of the kiosks – a few of the salesmen yelped out with sounds of concern, only to flee when Robin yelled back: _‘you better scarper, lads’_! There was a rush of people leaving, with the kiosks providing a great deal of coverage and keeping the two of them from sight. Buffaloman licked his lips and shrugged.

“No one’s returning my calls,” muttered Buffaloman.

Robin spun around. He marched up to Buffaloman, until he was only an inch from his face. It knocked Buffaloman back a few steps, until his back was flush against the rough back, and a callused finger stopped just a centimetre short of his nose. Robin locked his gaze. There was no sign of fear . . . no dilation of the pupils, no tension in the jaw, no paling of the skin . . . there was only a hard stare and flared nostrils. Buffaloman cocked back his head, while he rubbed against along his jawbone. A clear bruise was forming around the broken skin.

“What the _fuck_ do you expect?” Robin spat. “You _raped_ Mantaro!”

“Oh, and I don’t get to tell my side o’ the story?”

“No, you _don’t_ get to tell your side of the story! There _is_ no ‘your side’ of the story!” Robin shook his head. “I _saw_ you balls deep inside him! I _held_ him as he wept until there was blood in his tears! I _heard_ his screams as he had night terrors in the hospital! I trusted you . . . we all trusted you . . . the worst part is that Mantaro trusted you, but all that meant nothing to you.”

Robin dropped his shoulders, as he stumbled back. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, while he paced back and forth with muttered curses, and his limbs shook with the force of adrenaline, as he forced slow and deep breaths. The leaves of the trees rustled overhead, as a low breeze brushed over them and caught at a few stray petals on the grass. Robin lifted his foot. He pressed down on a stray pink petal, only to lift it and see the tears and stains left in its place. A low laugh escaped from his lips, as he turned and threw his arms up in a gesture of surrender.

“Why did you do it, Buffaloman?”

“It was consensual.”

“ _Bollocks_.”

“It was.” Buffaloman shrugged. “The fact is that it’s statutory rape, yeah, but it wasn’t rape in the classical sense, you know? He came into my office one day, all crying and begging for a day off from class, because he was behind on his studies and wanted to catch up, and I said I weren’t letting him off that easy, as I’d have to do it for everyone. You know what he said? _‘I’ll do anything, Sir; anything_ ’! That’s like the world’s most cliché come-on ever.

“I told him I wanted some oral sex, in exchange for letting him have the day off, and he was all shy and stuttering and unsure . . . I told him I’d even give him an ‘A’ grade, and you know what the little slut did? He got down on his knees and he blew me. I didn’t even have to force him or threaten him or anything. He just dropped down, whipped it out, and went at it like a pro. After that, I started exchanging favours from him more often . . . eventually, he wanted to stop, so I said that I’d have to offer favours to other students instead, like Chaos or something.

“The kid must’ve taken it as a threat, like I’d have made Chaos my bitch, because suddenly he’s hornier than a dog in heat and always at my leg . . . he’d blow me under my desk when I was in meetings, he’d play with himself after class on my windowsill . . . it was pretty hot, so I wasn’t going to correct him, you know? Next thing I know, though, he’s suddenly acting like an abused puppy and whining to everyone who’ll listen that he’s being molested or whatever.”

“So you admit to long-term abuse?” Robin rolled his eyes. “And what’s your excuse for the rape? Do you expect me to believe you tripped and landed dick-first inside his hole? They have fucking DNA evidence, Buffaloman . . . the camera footage, my testimony, the –”

“It was only the second time we had sex, Robin. The first time was a few days before, where he’d lied to Chaos and Meat about being molested, so he wanted to make it up to me . . . didn’t want Chaos to know he’d been cheating on him, I reckon. It was easier to cry ‘rape’ than admit he’d been having an affair. It was pretty hot. We had a good time. The time you walked in on us was more of the same . . . he lied to his friends and wanted to make it up to me.”

Tears pricked at Robin’s eyes. It was far from sorrow, far from regret . . . it was _rage_. He spun around so quickly that his cape billowed out behind him, and his vision narrowed until all peripheral sight vanished. There was only him and Buffaloman. The beating of his heart drowned out all other sound, as his knuckles turned white and his breaths came out in shallow pants. He tensed his muscles. He lowered his head. A white-hot anger descended on him, as he wrung his hands before him and bared his teeth behind his mask, as he spat out:

“A bit _violent_ for something consensual, hmm?”

“What can I say? He’s into that.” Buffaloman winked. “He likes it when you’re rough with him, when you dominate him . . . he came last time we fucked, and he comes like a fountain when he plays with himself, too, and one time we sixty-nine’d -? Fuck, I nearly choked to death. We ain’t all vanilla, and he’s even into rape role-play and some really kinky shit.”

“This is your defence?” Robin laughed. “Do you know back home our age of consent is sixteen, but – in cases where one party is in a ‘position of trust’ – that age is often upped to eighteen? _You_ were in a position of trust; even if he supposedly said ‘yes’, you still should have said ‘no’!”

“What can I say? I’m a man. I’m weak.”

“No, you’re a _monster_ and you’re pathetic.”

Robin stepped back. He wagged his finger in the air. It was a broken and lost gesture, one that ended with his hand falling limply at his side, and a lonely whisper escaped his lips . . . _‘Judas’_. A couple of security guards ran towards them, but Robin lifted a hand and held it high, and – with some hesitation – they stopped at a distance, even as their hands remained fixed on already aimed guns. Robin stepped towards Buffaloman. He looked him over. Buffaloman suddenly seemed so small . . . so worthless . . . Robin resisted the urge to spit at him. 

“Mantaro still won’t testify against you,” said Robin. “I _know_ you’ve been stalking him, though, and you can _bet_ that I’ll be forwarding that on to the police. You’ve also broke your restraining order by being here today; if I were you I’d leg it someplace else, because the police will be bashing down your door after this shit-show. They’ll get the evidence they need.”

“So someone’s sent Mantaro videos? Who cares? The kid’s a whore, so it could be anyone of his conquests sending him sexual crap . . . try proving it was _me_ in those videos. If I sent him a few photographs of myself in places, fine, it’s inappropriate and I’ll stop, but _he ruined my life_! If I want him to remember I’m still around, I have a fucking right. He _deserves_ to feel like dirt for putting me through this shit, and he _better_ be scared, as I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“So you’re threatening him into not testifying? If you’re as innocent as you claim, you’d have nothing to fear . . . where do you get off on torturing the wee lad? How do you even know what was sent to Mantaro? _I_ wasn’t even told there was sexual content, but _you_ know?”

“Oh, piss off, Robin. The kid’s a slut and you know it.”

Robin laughed. It was long and low and deep, echoing between them. He turned around and brought a hand to his temple, which he rubbed despite the metal between fingertips and hairline, and – with a shake of his head – muttered: _‘of course, you’re so right’_. Buffaloman grunted. He shifted behind Robin and stood away from the trunk. Robin waited . . . waited for him to relax his muscles, waited for him to breathe a long sigh . . . he spun around and punched hard straight for the muscles of that still flat stomach. Buffaloman crumpled. He collapsed to the ground.

“You’re going to be taken into custody,” said Robin. “You’ll be held until your trial. They will sentence you and stick you in a _chojin_ prison, where you’ll be treated as the lowest of the low, because even villainous scum draw the line at child molestation . . . you’ll either live in isolation or constant fear. They’ll rape you. They’ll beat you. One day they’ll kill you.”

“I-Is that right?”

“That’s right.” Robin spat at the ground. “No one will grieve for you. No one will mourn for you. You will die as the last of your kind, without a single attendant at your funeral, and you will be written out of the history books, so that your name fades into obscurity. Years from now, people will know the names of Terryman and Ramenman, but your name will be nothing more than a footnote at most . . . you are nothing, you will be nothing, and you will die as nothing.”

Buffaloman spat up bile and vomit. The stench was terrible, but Robin turned his back on him. He remained collapsed on the floor, where he clutched his stomach like a babe, and a few hissed breaths betrayed his pain, as Robin took a slow and steady walk towards the stadium. He kept his head high and his hands flush at his sides, and he moved with purpose, as he channelled the lessons from Alisa over the years . . . _chin parallel to the ground, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead_ . . . his lips found enough strength to throw out his final words:

“Goodbye, Buffaloman.”

He walked away, allowing the security guards to descend on Buffaloman. There was the sound of a scuffle, as he was forcibly thrown from the premises, but Robin did not stop or look back. He continued until he was through the main doors. Ikemen waited in the lobby, with a clipboard in one hand and a phone in the other, but – as his mouth opened to as the important question – Robin shook his head and lifted a hand. Ikemen fell silent, as he gave Robin space . . .


	11. Chapter 11

“Take a break, Mantaro.”

Ramenman tossed a towel towards the corner-post. It landed just beside Mantaro, who hunched forward and panted with hands pressed to his knees, and a heavy sweat dripped over his skin, until his uniform stuck to his muscles. Mantaro snatched at the towel, before he mopped down his face and neck and forearms. The bruises were gone. Mantaro sported his previous muscle-mass and weight, albeit a little extra in places from an increase in appetite.

The stadium was empty, only a few people sat on the far bleachers. Ikemen watched down while making the occasional notes, and Meat sat next to him and fisted his hands, as if trying to hold back on the urge to shout advice or give commands. Ramenman waved to them, before walking across the canvas to Mantaro with a nod of his head. The two men rose from the bleachers and slowly walked away to the offices, albeit Meat quirked his head one last time to look back, and he only departed once Mantaro nodded with a smile. Meat smiled back.

A strange silence fell between Mantaro and Ramenman. The vast number of security cameras watched the ring from all angles . . . they lined the stands, corridors, concessions . . . a brief argument flickered back into memory: _‘do you have enough cameras, Robin?’, ‘I can always add more if you continue to whine’._ Ramenman slapped a hand on Mantaro’s back, before lifting the rope high for him to jump down onto the ground. He followed with a grunt.

“I still don’t get why I need to learn self-defence,” muttered Mantaro. “You already taught me how to fight as a kid, and – _come on_ – I’ve been fighting for the past three years as a wrestler. I could probably teach _you_ a few things, so what’s even the point?”

“It never hurts to refresh the basics,” said Ramenman. “The foundations are what enable us to build complicated techniques and spectacular finishing moves, and the slightest crack the fundamentals can send our whole style and strategy plummeting to destruction. Do you remember the story about the man who wanted for a nail, Mantaro?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember: ‘For want of a nail the shoe was lost, for want of a shoe the horse was lost, for want of a horse the rider was lost, for want of a rider the battle was lost, and for want of a battle the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of a horseshoe nail’.”

“If you remember, then you know you must practise.”

“Okay, but why do I need to practise _now_.”

Mantaro skulked over to the metal chairs. He dropped down onto one, where he spread his legs wide and threw back his head to stare at the overhead lights, and – finally catching his breath – each muscle on his body relaxed, while he half-closed his eyes. Ramenman handed over a bottle of water, still with chunks of ice clattering about the interior. Mantaro gulped it down with great speed, before pulling his lips away with a loud gasp and a lick of his lips. He asked:

“This is because of what he did to me, isn’t it?”

Ramenman winced. He walked over to the training area. A heavy punching bag hung down, where a faint shadow beneath it swayed with every movement, and – as adrenaline coursed through every vein and every muscle – Ramenman clenched his fists. He stiffened his arms at his side. He clenched his jaw. A fist collided with the punching bag, sending it hurtling backward. He delivered blow after blow after blow, as his fists provided a soundtrack to their conversation.

“I should have taught you more,” said Ramenman.

“I knew how to fight back,” muttered Mantaro. “That was never the issue.”

“Then why – _why_ – did you not fight him and stop him?”

Tears pricked at Ramenman’s eyes. He punched harder and harder against the bag, with knuckles turning red from the impact . . . _faster, harder, wild_. . . the sound of grunts and groans echoed about the stadium, until they turned into a primal scream. A final punch broke the chain. The punching bag hurtled across the stadium, where it rolled against a far ring and stopped against the apron with a heavy thud. Ramenman ran his hands over his face, as he brushed away his tears and let loose a heavy sigh. He turned and reached a trembling hand to Mantaro, as he asked:

“I do not understand, Mantaro.”

“I – I don’t know.” Mantaro scratched at his neck. “It’s hard to explain, you know? I think I would’ve fought anyone else off, like a stranger . . . I’d have used all my best techniques, and I’d have used the skills taught to me by you and my teachers, and I’d have scratched and clawed and spat at a last resort, but this -? _Fuck_. It was Buffaloman! It was my _teacher_.

“It was all a big jumble in my head, and even now I still get it all muddled up, as I was thinking and feeling so much . . . I mean, I know it’s been a month, but it’s still so _fresh_. My therapist told me once to write everything down, so I did, and it was this really chaotic and messy list of all sorts of random things, but – you know what – it helped. I could see everything inside my head and I could finally organise it and sort it and make sense of it, and I think -?

“I think I still had some loyalty to him. He was my teacher and I trusted him . . . I kept thinking that there was no way that he’d hurt me, as he was the one who swore to always protect me, and I was so confused, like why was he doing this and what did it mean? I fell passive. I started to blame myself and I started to question reality, and I also didn’t want to hurt him . . . if I fought back, I’d hurt him, and I didn’t want to hurt him, as he was my teacher, and . . . _and_ . . .

“It’s fucked up, isn’t it? I mean _I_ didn’t want to hurt _my_ rapist.” Mantaro shook his head. “I also can’t explain it, but . . . you know when you’re so scared that you flee or fight? I never knew there was a third option. I was just so scared that I did _nothing_. I just . . . I lay there like a rock, _terrified_ to my core, and I _couldn’t_ fight back, as I was just too – too . . . too overwhelmed.”

Ramenman sighed. He slowly walked over to Mantaro. The chair was uncomfortable against his aching joints, and his hand dropped down onto a broad shoulder, where – with a gentle squeeze – he successfully hid the need to balance himself as he sat down with a groan. He dropped his hands between his legs, where he clasped them together and toyed with his thumbs. In the distance, Ikemen and Meat argued with some heated words, and it brought a smile to Mantaro, as the odd words betrayed how both men fought for what they thought was best for him. 

“It is a very common reaction,” whispered Ramenman. “It is said to be a survival mechanism, as if you submit to your attacker than you reduce the chances of their behaviour escalating and reserve strength to flee when you are better suited to flee. I have encountered many women in particular that have blamed themselves for having ‘submitted’ as you so put it.”

“Yeah, but how many of them were trained fighters? How many of them had a huge career record of victories against the worst scum in the universe? I know I shouldn’t blame myself, as he’s the one who made that choice and did those things, but still . . . I just . . .”

“Do you blame a woman for walking alone in an alley? Do you blame a man for dressing in a provocative manner? Do you blame a person for flirting without intent to do a sexual act? No, the only one to blame is Buffaloman. The law should not be ‘no means no’, but ‘yes means yes’, and without you saying ‘yes’ – without coercion, sane of mind – then it was rape. I simply wish I had taught you more about consent and abuse than I had about fighting and training.”

Ramenman leaned forward, where he pushed his thumbs into his eyes. A few tears threatened to fall, but words of Mantaro echoed in his head . . . _‘I’m so fed up of people crying over me, I just want them to smile again, you know?’ . . ._ Ramenman forced a smile, as he sat upright. He spotted Robin Mask in an upper window, in the viewing gallery, and the dark realisation dawned that everyone was now a potential suspect and everyone was a potential victim. The two of them locked eyes, as he drew in a deep breath and slapped against Mantaro’s back.

“I trusted Buffaloman,” said Ramenman. “He was my best friend.”

“I’m sorry. I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

A cold sweat broke over Ramenman. He slowly turned his head. Mantaro kept his head low, staring hard at the floor with wet eyes, and his lip trembled as if on the verge of tears, even as he forced a bright smile that cracked lines about his mask. Ramenman dropped his shoulders, as his heart fell into his stomach. He threw his arms around Mantaro. The younger man rested his head against his chest, while his fingers lightly stroked against that muscular back. Ramenman spat:

“Buffaloman was the one to ruin everything.”

Mantaro laughed through his tears, before he pulled back with a half-smile. He rubbed at his eyes with his fist, much like he would as a child after being scolded, and Ramenman – with a roll of his eyes – pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, before ruffling his tuft of hair. Ramenman walked back to the ring. He jumped over the ropes and landed with grace, even as his knees ached and burned with the impact, and he quickly dropped to the canvas, as he commenced with a series of press-ups. Mantaro followed and sat on the apron, before muttering:

“But you guys were always together.”

“All the more reason that I should have seen the signs,” said Ramenman. “I look back at decades of friendship and wonder what I missed . . . he must have expressed such dark desires, he must have acted inappropriately before me . . . did I always dismiss what I saw by making excuses, or did I just choose not to see what was in front of my nose? I blame myself.

“Still, what does this teach you? It teaches that self-blame is acceptable. No, we must never blame ourselves for the mistake of others . . . how about a deal, Mantaro? I shall not blame myself for your abuse, if you do not blame yourself for your abuse?”

“Deal,” laughed Mantaro. “I am sorry, though.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Ramenman paused. He stopped midway through his press-up. Mantaro leaned against the ropes much as the younger generation were prone when bored or tired, as if it were nothing more than a makeshift hammock, and bounced back and forth with a smile. Ramenman muttered a chastisement under his breath in his native tongue, before he patted the canvas. A long sigh from Mantaro turned into a lazy groan, as he dragged his feet into ring and collapsed down beside him with exaggerated complaints, and finally did push-ups in turn. Ramenman asked:

“Why will you not give testimony, Mantaro?”

“I don’t want to,” muttered Mantaro.

“They have evidence of child pornography from his video of your last encounter. It will be easy to make charges stick, and they have the videos from your phone that were also sent to you, but they will struggle to convict him for rape without your testimony, especially in this day and age where rape cases are incredibly difficult to reach court at the best of times.

“He has an excellent lawyer. They think that – without your testimony – they can argue that it was statutory rape, and avoid being given jail time for that charge, by the fact you supposedly otherwise ‘consented’. If they are to make rape charges stick, it would be best to have your testimony and allow for your medical reports to be seen . . . the bruises, the cuts . . . Meat has come forward, but – as it is a historical case – it will likely not result in a ‘guilty’ verdict.”

“He’ll get jail time regardless, so the only issue is how much.” Mantaro shrugged. “I’d rather him get out earlier than testify before a court! Even if it’s a closed court, I’d still have to tell a bunch of strangers intimate details and relive the worst experience of my life, and – God forbid – they turn around and say that it _was_ consensual -? How do I live with that? How do I live knowing no one believes me and having them judge me and undermine my own experiences?

“I’m proud of Meat for coming forward, and he’s the bravest guy that I know, but this is _my_ rape and _my_ recovery and I don’t owe it to anyone to do what makes me uncomfortable . . . right? I – I can think about it, but it’s a huge ordeal and even some of the police officers and therapists advised against it, especially as they have other evidence to try him on, and I just . . .”

Mantaro rolled over onto his back. He threw his arms up over his head, which emphasised the bulges of his muscles and the hairs underarm, and – for a split second – Ramenman saw a grown man instead of a young boy, instead of the reality that Mantaro was now both at once . . . _the helplessness of the child, the intelligence of an adult._ Ramenman continued his press-ups, as he kept his eyes fixed ahead at a random spot among the bleachers . . . a place where Buffaloman once sat, where he once shouted advice to the young recruits . . . Mantaro whispered:

“Am I a bad person for just wanting it be over?”

“Not at all, Mantaro,” said Ramenman.

He sighed. He dropped his head. The only sounds was the heavy pants from Mantaro, who struggled to hold back his choked sobs, and Ramenman – with a shuddered breath – climbed into a seating position, where he dropped a hand onto Mantaro’s knee. It was a light touch, without any movement or pressure on the limb. Mantaro tensed. He pulled his hand away and muttered an apology, before he stood and walked to the ropes. The distance allowed Mantaro to relax his muscles. Ramenman held tight onto the ropes, as he leaned forward and stretched.

“You do what’s best for you,” whispered Ramenman.

“There’s so much pressure, though! I keep getting guilt-trips, like people asking what if he does it to someone else and how I should be a role-model for other victims, but . . . I just want to move forward and forget everything, so I can’t . . . I just _can’t_.”

“Do not worry. We will do this at your pace and on your terms.”

“And what if I never want to testify?”

“Then you never testify.”

Ramenman turned around. He moved to the centre of the ring and took up a fighting stance, with his legs apart and his fists held before him, and – with a smirk – he signalled for Mantaro to stand before him and ready for a sparring match. Mantaro stood, but his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were held wide. The expression quickly softened, as he laughed and smiled and assumed a fighting stance in response, and Ramenman chuckled:

“Come, it is time to train again.”


	12. Chapter 12

_Mantaro dropped his backpack._

_It landed with a thud next to the futon. A plush-toy of Robin Mask rolled onto the floor, while the blanket slid from a few action-figures of Kinnikuman Great, and Mantaro chuckled, as he knelt down and carefully tidied up enough space for a second futon. Genta yelled out from downstairs that dinner was nearly ready, while Ms Mari played at the piano, and outside a group of younger children loudly cheered, as they raced around for a game of tag. Mantaro asked with a smile:_

_‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here?’_

_Chaos ran into the room, before he dived down onto the futon. He stretched out with his hands clasped behind his head, while he kicked out his legs and fidgeted to get a comfortable spot, and – with a big grin – patted the rolled-up futon just to the side. Mantaro laughed. He laughed and came around to the other side, where he squatted down to sit on the folded up mattress, and rested his forearms on his knees. Chaos looked . . ._ hot _. A blush washed over his cheeks._

 _He bit into his lip to remember when that pose would have been an invitation . . . two of them with limbs entwined, kisses to every inch of skin, soft giggles and whispers to keep quiet . . . a rush of adrenaline flooded his veins, as his member grew half-hard. He shifted left to right. A cold sweat dripped over his back, as bile burned the back of his throat . . ._ a longing to be with his love, the associations of being with his abuser _. . . Mantaro ran a hand over his face. Chaos sat upright, before he dropped a hand onto Mantaro’s knee. Mantaro jumped upright._

_The racing of his heart echoed in his ears. He forced slow and staggered breaths, as his face paled and his body swayed, and – with trembling lips – he stepped over Chaos and snatched at his backpack. He unpacked with careful organisation, as Chaos muttered ‘sorry’. Mantaro shook his head and smiled. He leaned across to press a chaste kiss to Chaos’ cheek, and continued to unpack his clothes and possessions, as Chaos sat cross-legged with his gaze cast low._

_‘I feel way better with you here,’ said Chaos. ‘That creep is sending you photos and messages, but here you’ll be surrounded by the other kids and the sisters, and I’ll be here, and your pops paid for a load of security cameras and alarms and stuff. It’s the safest place you can be.’_

_‘You’re just saying that, because before we had to leave the door open and I couldn’t crash overnight,’ teased Mantaro. ‘Who wouldn’t want their boyfriend alone in their bedroom without a chaperone? Remember that time when we were fooling around just out back in the woods, only Sister came looking for us -? Dude, you were so red in the face!’_

_‘Oh, come on, you were way more embarrassed than I was!’_

_‘Nuh-uh,’ muttered Mantaro._

_‘Uh-huh!’_

_Laughter burst between them. Mantaro jumped onto the futon beside Chaos, as he gesticulated wildly and tried to tell the story between gasps of air, and Chaos – crying through laughter – tacked him to the futon and tickled at his sides. The two of them rolled and wrestled, until they fell beside one another on the cold floor. Laughter turned into chuckles and chuckles turned into broken breaths. They lay side-by-side, as they clasped their hands and entwined their fingers. A few muffled giggles fell from Chaos, as Chaos turned his head to face him and whispered:_

_‘You know I’m not expecting anything, right?’_

_Mantaro giggled in turn, before rolling onto his side. He blushed. The beating of his heart increased, but this time his skin felt warm and the smile never faded . . . he leaned close to press his lips against Chaos’. They were soft as their very first kiss. A tiny gasp escaped Chaos, parting his lips just slightly, and the touch lingered, until Mantaro pulled back with half-lidded eyes. A silence fell between them, as they held hands and lay side-by-side with smiles._

_‘I know,’ said Mantaro. ‘That’s why I feel safe with you . . .’_

* * *

A low grunt echoed out from the canvas.

Mantaro stood with perfect posture against one set of ropes, while Jade and Checkmate stood opposite with obvious tells as to their next techniques, and they charged straight for Mantaro, who dodged with perfect timing and laughed at their failure. He pulled a face and put thumb to nose, as he waggled his fingers and made a childish chant, and – before long – the two men were chasing him around the ring like a cartoon cat chasing a mouse. He taunted them as he ran.

“Will you guys remember you’re meant to be _professionals_?”

Meat wagged a fist at them. He ran towards the ring, while Rinko spread out the picnic blanket across the grass in Beverly Park . . . a cool breeze washed over them, as Jacqueline poured hot cups of tea, and Chaos helped in setting up a small seating area. The smell of freshly baked cakes drifted out from the basket, while fresh sandwiches were plated up with great finesse, and Chaos smiled through his laughter, as he dropped down onto a small stool beside the blanket.

Rinko sat on a stool beside him, while Jacqueline reclined on the blanket. They made small-talk and exchanged food, as the training match continued on the ring, and a whistle blew nearby from a crossing guard, as children shouted and gossiped and giggled. The faint ringing of a school-bell echoed out, while the sun warmed at their skin. Chaos hummed an old tune. He stopped only when Meat marched towards them. Meat bore his hands on his hips and a scowl across his face, and he stopped a few inches from the picnic with a wagging finger, as he said in a low voice:

“Are you guys really having a picnic?”

They exchanged looks. Chaos let loose a nervous chuckle, as he scratched behind his ear with his index fingers, and Rinko sipped at her tea, while staring into the distance. They said nothing, even as Jacqueline rolled onto her back and arched her spine to emphasise her large chest, and – with an exaggerated groan – she stretched with her arms thrown over her head. Meat continued to look them each in the eyes and ignored her movements. Jacqueline dropped back down with a pout, as she folded her arms and puffed out her cheeks. Meat said nothing.

“We were going to train later,” whined Jacqueline.

“Yeah, I just finished my morning run, too,” added Chaos. “Plus, it’s the first time in two months that Mantaro’s seemed kind of . . . _happy_. I think that’s a cause to celebrate and take a break, right? Plus, I’ll be fifteen tomorrow, and everyone’s here, so . . . _you know_ . . .”

“You really want us to _not_ celebrate his birthday?” Rinko gave an exaggerated gasp, and said: “That’s pretty harsh, Meat! We even got in some of your favourite grub, too, and Mantaro’s going to _love_ the beef bowls when he takes a break. Can we tempt you to sit down? How often have you had a break lately, between therapy and legal proceedings and work?”

“The sun’s nice and hot,” chirped Chaos.

“Haven’t had weather this nice in ages. Good to get a tan!”

Meat pinched the bridge of his nose. He heaved a low hiss of breath, while Rinko took a plate of miniature cakes and wafted it before his nose, and – as a smile teased his lips – a long sigh escaped him and he took a cake into his hands. Rinko cheered loudly, enough to distract the three in the ring. They turned to stare in their direction. Rinko blushed and waved back, before Meat chuckled and took a bite of the cake. A strong breeze caught at the rich scents, bringing complaints from Mantaro who lamented a second round of sparring, and Chaos waved to him.

“Fine,” muttered Meat. “Budge over.”

The three of them cheered, as Chaos jumped closer to Rinko. Meat knelt beside him in an elegant manner, while Jacqueline slid a cup of tea across the blanket, and – putting down his cake – he took slow and loud sips, before smacking his lips with a sigh. A selection of different foods sat before them, as Rinko pulled out the last few dishes. The beef bowls still steamed. It was a rich scent, one enough to make Chaos’ mouth water, but – as he reached for one – Rinko slapped at his hand and shouted _‘hey’_. He pulled it back with a nervous laugh. Meat muttered:

“You may as well have one. Mantaro eat the beef bowls, anyway.”

“Huh, why not?”

“He’s gone off his food lately,” said Meat. “I know it’s been two months, but the trauma is still pretty strong and he’s struggling more than he lets on. I think it’s affecting his appetite. I’ve noticed that he’s been nauseous a lot lately, and Sister says that he’s been sick a few times with the stomach flu, so I’ve recommended a plain diet high in protein with lots of liquids.”

“Yeah, about that,” added Jacqueline. “He’s still putting on weight, right? I mean, I know Chaos and Mantaro aren’t doing much more than hugging, but Chaos said that he’s _felt_ the bulge to his stomach and – well – those uniforms don’t leave much to the imagination . . .”

“I know. I see it, too, Jacqueline.”

Chaos furrowed his brow. He turned his head from one to the other, but both avoided his gaze and stared awkwardly at the blanket. The ring continued with loud grunts and groans, as Mantaro forced Jade onto the mat and trapped him in a lock, and Chaos – biting into his lip – ran his eyes over the familiar frame . . . _taut muscles, unblemished skin, rounded stomach_ . . . Chaos tilted his head to the side, as he scratched at his neck. Rinko sat with arms folded and legs parted, as she bored the same expression as him, and pursed her lips with a muttered:

“Do you think Manta is sick?”

“Sort of,” muttered Meat.

“But he’s doing so well!” Chaos beamed a bright smile. “I know he’s not keen on going to therapy so often, but he’s able to get back into his old routine. I’ve never seen him so dedicated and passionate and hard-working, and the nightmares are getting less and less, too . . . I mean, last night he actually slept for the _whole_ night without a bad dream. It was a big relief.”

“I got to admit,” added Rinko, “Mantaro is doing pretty great. He actually let me hug him last week, whereas before he would have flinched away and started to panic. I was talking to him, and he said his biggest issue right now is anything sexual, because he feels all conflicted . . . hard not to be reminded of what happened to him, hard not to hate himself for enjoying stuff. I can’t imagine how difficult that must be, but it’s normal to struggle with that, right?”

“Yeah, I heard the two most common responses for child abuse – and rape victims – are either total abstinence or total promiscuity . . . I guess there’s dozens of responses in between, and Mantaro seems to _want_ to do stuff, but I figured it was something we could work on together. I mean, it’s not as though we need stuff to be a couple, right? It’s hardly a big deal.”

“You guys really _are_ just kids,” sighed Meat. “You could call it ‘sex’ and not ‘stuff’.”

“I – I – I can’t do that, not a-around you!”

“That’s not why we’re concerned, anyway,” interrupted Jacqueline. “We didn’t mean to suggest that Mantaro was avoiding food because of depression or trauma, but just . . . well . . . Rinko probably wouldn’t know this, because she’s a human, but you – Chaos – you spent your childhood with your chojin family, and you spent your summers with the Kinniku Clan after their death, right? You remember the talk on chojin puberty, surely?”

A blush ran across Chaos’ cheeks. A series of stuttered words fell from his mouth. They were incoherent and mumbled, while Rinko laughed and nudged him in his side . . . _‘they probably want to make sure you guys are playing it safe’_. He dropped his head into his hands, while he rubbed his fingers into his eyes, and Meat and Jacqueline – once again – shared a look without a hint of a smile or a sign of laughter. Chaos reached down and toyed with the edges of the blanket, where his fingers caught at a stray thread and picked with heavy gestures.

“Come on, Sister gave me that talk,” muttered Chaos. “Plus, Mantaro and I . . . look, I – I’m not going t-to talk about what we have or haven’t done, but we’ve done enough that I don’t need a talk a-and we’re always safe about stuff, too! What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Well, just for Rinko’s benefit, we should explain a little.” Jacqueline blushed. “Look, you both know that _chojin_ are born neither male nor female, right? It’s why so many chojin are disproportionately male, because gender has become something of a social construct, and most chojin raise their children to be male, because of an inherent biased, but . . .”

“We’ve – ah – all got the same parts,” choked Meat.

“Exactly! The point is that – well – the rear is different to that of a human. It acts more like an oesophagus, with its own epiglottis, and usually it’s used primarily for waste, but stimulus to the prostate or Gräfenberg spot causes the epiglottis to move. This allows semen to enter the womb and impregnate the chojin in question. It – It kind of disturbs a lot of humans . . .”

Rinko pulled a face. Chaos buried his face into his hands. The two of them sat side-by-side, while Jacqueline and Meat stared ahead at them with quirked eyebrows, and Chaos squirmed underneath their incessant staring with a marked pout. A cloud moved above, until a shaft of light came down and caught against his eyes. He lifted a hand to shield his gaze. The scent of the tea was rich and sweet, enough for him to take a few long sips, and he hummed at the taste, as he swilled it about his mouth and gulped it down. He did a spit-take afterward, as Rinko asked:

“So it’s like an ass-baby, right?”

“No, it is _not_ like an ‘ass-baby’!” Meat shouted.

“It’s really not,” added Jacqueline. “The channel is different to a human anus or vagina, so it really is its own distinct piece of biology, but the point is . . . well . . . just like how humans can experience unwanted arousal during rape, a chojin might become more ‘receptive’ during rape, because the unintended stimulus moves the epiglottis, and a symptom of pregnancy is . . .?”

“Weight gain,” muttered Rinko.

“Nausea,” said Chaos. “Appetite changes.”

He dropped his cup. The tea spilled out over the blanket, soaking into the fabric. He raised a trembling hand to his mouth, as his face grew deathly pale and his body swayed, and Rinko – with a broken gasp – slid out of her chair and onto the picnic blanket, where she stopped on her knees and stared emptily ahead. Meat snatched at some cloth napkins and dabbed at the tea, while Chaos fought to stop his fingers from closing over their own accord . . . _pins and needles in the digits, movement against his will as his hands closed, numbness in his palm_. . .

“No,” choked Chaos. “No. You’re not saying –”

“We’re not saying anything yet,” promised Meat. “We’re just saying that Mantaro hasn’t spoken much to anyone about his rapes outside of his therapist, and while the doctors _did_ check him over and take physical evidence and offered him a morning-after pill for chojin physiologies . . . it’s _possible_ that he could have still fallen pregnant, if Buffaloman ejaculated inside of him.”

“The pill is only ninety-percent effective if taken within three days,” said Jacqueline. “It’s ninety-five percent effective if taken within one day. We also don’t know _exactly_ when Mantaro was attacked before . . . before that time Robin Mask saved him.”

“It means _if_ he was pregnant, he still might be . . .”

Chaos jumped to his feet. The world went black around him. There was no peripheral vision, and there was no focus to his vision . . . he dug his thumbs into his eyes, while he panted for breath, and his chest rose and fell in a fast and irregular rhythm. He patted his pocket. The inhaler was nowhere to be found . . . _he couldn’t breathe_ . . . tears pricked hot at his eyes, as sweat broke across his brow and dripped down over his cheeks. He moved his hands back to his temples, where he pushed them hard until the skin turned white and pain shot though his head.

Rinko rose and placed a hand on him. A raised palm signalled to those on the ring to stay put, as she forced a smile and waved in a friendly manner, but Chaos – choking on air – spun around to turn his back on them . . . _he couldn’t let Mantaro see him weep._ A painful lump formed at the back of his throat, as bile burned at the back of his tongue. He hunched forward. A sensation ran over him like insects crawling over his flesh, as a cold sweat broke over his flesh.

“You’re wrong,” spat Chaos.

“Chaos, you need –”

“ _You’re wrong_!”

He sobbed. He wept. Jacqueline stood and came around; one hand was placed on his upper back, while the other came around to entangle with his blond hair, and – with soft hushes – she pulled him against her and rested his head against her ample chest. He bent his knees out of instinct, so that he could match her height. Rinko smiled beside him. A hand touched his leg, as Meat came around to join them, and Rinko stroked at his arm . . . Mantaro shouted over if they were okay, and Meat screamed back that their break was over . . . Chaos chuckled, as Mantaro whined.

“It’s only speculation,” whispered Jacqueline.

“You guys are due for your physicals soon, anyway,” chirped Meat. “I’ll see if I can convince Junior to head in early, maybe it’ll be less traumatic if me or his pops go with him? It’ll only take a quick blood and urine test to find out for certain, and you guys have to have those anyway.”

“It could be absolutely nothing, but we’ll know for certain this way.”

“Yeah, no point crying just yet, Chaos!”

Chaos sniffed. He pulled back with his fist rubbing at his eyes. A staggered sigh escaped his lips, as Jacqueline pulled out a handkerchief and mopped at his cheeks, and – as memories of his mother flooded his mind – a sincere smile broke over his lips. Rinko nudged him in the side and pointed to the ring, where Mantaro continually attempted to show off. The techniques were stopped easily by Jade, who took advantage of the new openings, but Mantaro would up and try again why calling out ‘ _watch me, Chaos’_. Chaos laughed and sniffed, as he choked out:

“I just want this to be over for him . . .”

Meat sighed, as he tugged at Chaos’ arm. He led him back down onto the blanket, before he loaded up a plate full of his favourite foods, and forced it into his hand, as Chaos distracted himself by poking at the food. Meat sat next to him, while he watched the ‘training’ descend into chaos on the ring, and he wiped at his eye beneath his glasses. Mantaro laughed. He laughed as if nothing were wrong, completely oblivious to the harsh reality that awaited him . . .

“We all want this over,” whispered Meat.


	13. Chapter 13

“You’re pregnant,” said Robin.

Mantaro paled. He fell back in his chair, while his hands dropped limp. They hung emptily at his sides, with his hand half-open and fingers twitching, and his shoulders slumped until shoulder-blades rested on the back of the chair. He stared forward. The green eyes were dull and unfocussed, while he stared at a random spot on the wall opposite. Robin scraped a stool across the tiled floor, with a loud screeching of metal on stone, and sat not far from Mantaro.

A few choked and staggered breaths echoed about the room. The stench of disinfectant filled the air around them, while the doctor shifted from foot-to-foot by the office doors, and a tap dripped in an irregular rhythm beside the medical bed. Chaos sat beside Mantaro. He pressed a hand onto Mantaro’s forearm, where he squeezed with a light pressure. It was a small intimacy, one that brought a smile to Robin beneath his mask, but Mantaro continued to stare lifelessly ahead.

“No,” said Mantaro. “No, you’re wrong.”

Mantaro jumped to his feet. The hand on his forearm was jerked away, as he paced back and forth with his hands pressed to his head. Fingers dug into this mask and scratched long and visible lines down the fabric. Robin dropped his head. He stared hard at the floor, as he rested his forearms on his knees and stayed silent. Mantaro chanted out over and over: _‘no, no, no’_. It brought a tear to his eye, but Chaos shook . . . _trembling, teary-eyed, lips shaking . . ._ Mantaro drew in shallow breaths, emitting small hiccups. The pacing did not stop.

The computer screen glowed from the desk, with various numbers and medical jargon filling every inch of the screen, and the light caught at Mantaro, who brought his hands to tent before his mouth. It illuminated the tearstains. It emphasised his wet eyes. Robin rubbed at his chest, as a terrible ache struck at his heart. Mantaro stopped centre of the room, where he finally dropped his head and slumped forward, and – once more – fell limp and weak. The doctor said:

“We did all the tests, Mantaro.”

“The doctor is right,” muttered Robin. “He ran bloods and urine. It’s all coming back rather conclusive, but – if it puts your mind to right – we can always ask for an ultrasound . . . I asked to be the one to give you the news, as I’m your legal guardian here on Earth, but your father is on his way and he can go through this in detail with you, my lad. He won’t be long.”

“We can inform Meat Alexandria, too,” continued the doctor. “It’s usually something we do off the bat, but as he’s a minor himself then it gets a bit tricky. Once your parents arrive, we can discuss all your options and you can decide how you want to proceed.”

“It’s important your mum and dad be here, Junior.”

“Especially for consent reasons . . .”

The implication hung heavy in the air . . . _abortion, adoption . . ._ Robin shivered. Mantaro repeated the word in a whisper: _‘consent’_. He dropped to his knees. The tears fell fast and heavy, as he wept into his open hands, and his chest heaved with wracked sobs, even as Chaos ran to his side and dropped down beside him. The cries drowned out all other sounds. Chaos whispered vague reassurances, as his hand ran circles on Mantaro’s back, and Mantaro buried his face into his hands, as he hunched over with hands pressed to legs. A low groan spilled forth . . .

He sat back on his feet, before running his hands over his face. Mantaro heaved a shuddered sigh, as he struggled to stand and swayed where he stood. Chaos slowly guided him back to the chair, where he collapsed down with a heavy thud. The two of them sat in awkward silence, while the doctor returned to his desk and ran through the results, but Mantaro – with a low exhale much like a whisper – forced a smile and asked in an eerily upbeat voice:

“How – How far am I into the . . . the . . .”

“About two months,” said Robin.

Mantaro nodded. He choked out a sound between a laugh and a scoff, as he threw a hand up in the air with a dismissive wave. He crossed his legs and draped one arm around his stomach, while his lips pursed and puckered with incoherent sounds, and each time Chaos touched his shoulder, Mantaro would shrug him away with a high-pitched whine. Robin scooted his chair a little closer, but Mantaro sent him a deathly glare that kept him at bay. The silence returned. The tears stopped. Mantaro pointed at his stomach with a violent shake of his hand.

“So it’s definitely _his_ ,” choked Mantaro.

The trembling of his lips was too much to bear. Robin reached for his hand, where he took it with a light squeeze, and he rubbed his thumb over the soft skin, while he bit his lip to hold back the lie: _‘it will all be okay_ ’. Chaos threw an arm around Mantaro, albeit with a loose hold. There was enough space to avoid a sense of claustrophobia, but enough contact so that Mantaro would not feel alone, and yet there was nothing anyone could say to help. Robin whispered:

“It’s definitely his.”

Mantaro pressed his arm hard into his stomach. He drew in broken gasps of air, which resulted in large hiccups and jerks of his chest. Outside, a large amount of noise broke through the door . . . _shouts and screams of an older couple, slamming of various doors, stamping of feet up and down the corridor_ . . . the handle of the door jiggled. The door opened a few inches, before someone yanked it back and shouted about confidentiality. This prompted further arguments. Robin stood with a loud huff, and placed his hands on his hips, until a familiar voice broke though:

_‘My son, where’s my son?’_

_‘Mantaro? Honey?’_

The door burst open, revealing Bibimba and Suguru. They shrugged away a pair of security guards, with Bibimba stamping on the foot of one until he howled with pain, and – as they shoved at each other to get inside first – Robin raised a hand to the guards. The guards backed off with nods of their heads. The door closed behind them. Suguru had aged considerably since first having heard about the rape, and his ill health appeared to have taken a sharp turn . . .

Robin winced to see black bags beneath his eyes, while prominent ribs could have been used as a xylophone for all their visibility, and there were marks on his arms that spoke of a serious medical treatment, one that Mantaro was likely left in the dark. Still, with every last remaining ounce of energy, his entire focus was on his son . . . _nothing else mattered_. Suguru staggered with a slight limp into the centre of the room, while looking around with his hand shielding his eyes, and soon he spotted Mantaro sitting side-by-side with Chaos by the desk.

A loud gasp escaped Bibimba, as her hands came to cover her mouth. There was still a distinct beauty about her frame, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes, as she fought back tears and paled to see her son in such pain. Together, they both ran to Mantaro. They dropped to their knees, even as Suguru winced and groaned at the bending of his joints, and they ran their hands all over Mantaro, as if in search of injuries or marks. Suguru mumbled through tears:

“My boy, I’m so sorry.”

“We only just got the news,” choked Bibimba. “Oh, Mantaro . . . I wish I knew what to say to make everything better, but there are honestly no words. The happiest day of your life should be the day that you realise you’ll be a parent, but this . . . you’re so young, and none of this was planned, let alone wanted . . . how could he do this to you? You’re my innocent baby . . .”

“I would ask how you feel, squirt, but I think I know.” Suguru sniffed. “It breaks my heart to see you so scared and alone, so to think that I even feel a _tenth_ of what you feel -? Well, you’ve always been the strong one . . . the one with a good head on his shoulders . . . you wanted to be a lawyer or a doctor, and your grades were going up, too! If – If I’d let you follow your dreams, you’d never have been in this situation, he’d never have hurt you. I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry.”

“You still have options, Mantaro. He can’t take those from you. I’ve spoken to the doctors, along with your father, and we’ve been told that there’s still planet of time for you to abort, if you feel that you can’t go ahead with the pregnancy . . . that’s a choice only _you_ can make, though, as everyone has different feelings on abortion. If you do decide on abortion, the sooner would be better for your body and mental health. We’d give you our full consent, too.”

“There’s also adoption,” added Suguru. “If you think about it, it’s a very good option! After all, Rinko was adopted and never wanted for anything, and we helped take on Chaos, after what he was orphaned. He loves Sister more than anything, and she raised him well, right? Jade adores Brocken, too. The kid gets to have a wonderful life, with loving parents . . . it’s ideal.”

“Except for Mantaro,” muttered Robin. “If I speak as a man who lost his son, I must say that there is no greater pain . . . I know mine only ran away, but when I think about him dying or fully relinquishing all custody or contact -? It eats me up inside. A part of me dies.”

“Can you _not_ say things like that? It’ll make it way harder on him!”

“The poor chap has to be realistic and know what to expect.”

Robin stepped back. He nodded to the doctor, who quickly nodded back and left the room. Suguru and Bibimba made no sign of recognition, as they continued to squeeze at Mantaro’s cheeks and hold tightly onto his hands and rub at his head. It brought back memories of when he was a small child, having just fallen off his bike and scraping his knees . . . they would fuss and fawn over him, until Robin was forced to walk away with a sigh. He bit his tongue this time, while he drummed his fingers against his arm. Mantaro swatted his parents’ hands away.

“Look, it’s possible that adoption is a perfect solution,” said Robin. “He could look at the baby and see his attacker reflected in their eyes, or he might feel nothing and have no connection, and giving them up will feel natural and the best solution. He won’t feel any guilt or pain.”

“There sounds like a ‘but’ coming,” added Chaos.

“The ‘but’ is that Mantaro could feel a strong paternal urge. He could hold the baby and see a blank slate, one on which Buffaloman has no impact, and a connection that will make it very difficult to give the baby to another family. If he does, he could spend a lifetime wondering ‘what if’ and regretting having let go a part of himself. It’s not an easy choice.”

They fell silent. Mantaro slid his hands over his stomach, which was slightly distended, and his fingers trembled as they stroked at the stretched fabric. He yanked them away as if burned. The curl of his lip and squint of his eyes aged him beyond his years, and he drew his legs high against his chest, while his feet rested on the edge of the chair. Robin leaned back against the desk to the side, while he rubbed at his temples through his mask. The room was too warm, stuffed full of emotional bodies and heated by a blasting radiator, and he let loose a loud exhale.

“There is also the impact on the child,” added Robin.

“What do you mean?” Suguru asked.

“You know what it’s like, Suguru. You spent a lifetime questioning ‘why didn’t they want me’ and ‘why wasn’t I good enough’, and that shit stays with you . . . it can make you feel worthless, because someone _abandoned_ you and never looked back. You have questions about why you were given up, about where your blood comes from, and you’ll likely never know.”

“Yes, but there are _many_ happily adopted children! I mean, you live knowing that your adoptive family wanted you . . . _chose_ you . . . you grow up knowing that your birth parents gave you away, as it was what was best for you, and their last act was to put you first. It’d have been selfish to keep you, so they made that sacrifice . . . you were loved by them, and you are loved by your adoptive family. If anything, you have twice as much love as anyone else.”

“But you can’t _guarantee_ the child will feel that way,” said Robin.

They stared hard at one another. It was broken only by Bibimba standing upright, before grabbing Suguru by his ear and Robin by the crook of his neck, and – as both croaked out a series of _‘ow, ow, ow’_ – they were led across the room and shoved down onto the medical bad. It was hard and uncomfortable, but Bibimba pushed them back down each time they tried to stand, and placed her hands firmly on her hips. Robin and Suguru both looked down with sheepish apologies, as they muttered out a _‘sorry’_ each. Bibimba asked in a firm voice:

“What does Mantaro feel?”

Bibimba turned with a smile, as she came to kneel beside Mantaro. A gentle hand stroked at his cheeks and forehead, while she smoothed back his tuft of brown hair, and from her lips came a hummed tune reminiscent of lost childhoods. Mantaro turned his head to Chaos. The tears spilled from his eyes while his lips tumbled over a series of half-formed words, and Chaos silenced him with a finger pressed to his mouth and a chaste kiss to his cheek. Mantaro smiled, before he rubbed at his eyes with his forearm and choked back loud gasps and groans.

“I’ll never leave you,” promised Chaos.

“I know,” said Mantaro. “It’s not that . . . well, it’s not _just_ that. I – I would feel pretty lousy if I kept the baby and you’d be . . . I don’t know . . . _stuck_ just being a step-dad to a kid that you didn’t ask for or know about or consent to being a part of their life. I mean, we’re just _kids_! You’re only fifteen, Chaos! We’re like kids having kids. It’s messed up!

“You’d be having sleepless nights before big school exams. You’d be wiping up sick, when you should be going out to parties and stuff. I mean, _we’re_ supposed to be the kids right now . . . we’re supposed to skip curfew, go out drinking, and argue about homework . . . I mean, it’s not even just about you, but _I_ deserve better, too, right? The child would ruin our lives, and it’s unfair on them, because they never asked to be born or for any of this.”

“It sounds like abortion’s off the table,” said Chaos.

“I – I think it is, because I don’t want to hurt them. They feel too much like a baby to me, you know? I mean, it’s hard to put into words, but Buffaloman hurt me real bad . . . I don’t want to hurt anyone else, especially if it’s _just_ because they share his genetics. I mean, the kid could be healthy right? If their health isn’t at risk, and mine’s not at risk, I’d be too guilty getting rid of them now . . . I’d always grow up thinking ‘they’d be this age now’. It’s too much.

“I – I just don’t know about adoption or keeping them. If we kept them, we’d have to rely on nannies and governesses and private tutors . . . we’d forfeit our childhood! If we give them away, though, I’m not sure that I wouldn’t keep thinking about them or missing them, but . . . would I even miss them? I also don’t think I could look at them and _not_ be reminded of what happened.”

Chaos winced. He pulled back and slumped in his seat. It was a lot for an adult to process, but for a child with a traumatic past and so much potential . . . Robin sighed. Chaos carried on his shoulders the weight of the world, as he strived to be strong for both his boyfriend and himself, and it would only be a matter of time before he broke under the strain. The computer hummed from the desk. It was a low sound that cut through the quiet, as Mantaro breathed heavily and stared off into the distance. Chaos stared just the same beside him.

“I don’t know what to do,” choked Mantaro.

The words hung heavy in the room. Bibimba whispered an _‘oh son’_ , before draping her arms around his hunched shoulders and pulling him close against her chest. He nuzzled against her with a soft sniff, as she cradled him and hummed warm reassurances, and for once the tears ceased to fall from his eyes, as her touch provided some instinctual comfort. Robin clapped a hand on Suguru’s back. Each vertebra was uncomfortably sharp under his hand, so he loosened his pressure and refrained from patting his back. Bibimba whispered to Mantaro:

“If you won’t abort, you have a lot of time to decide.”

“Plus, there’s no real way to say what’s right,” said Suguru. “I had an awful childhood, but I like to think I turned out pretty well! Kevin and Ataru both were spoiled, but they rebelled and turned pretty crappy for a while . . . Bone Cold had a bad childhood and was bad, so I guess maybe sometimes there is like a causation thing? In any case, you can never really tell!”

“All that matters is love,” added Bibimba. “If you keep them and love them, everything else will fall into place and it will be okay. If you give them away, their new family will give them so much love that they will never want for anything in life. The child will be okay.”

“Just take the time to work out what’s best for _you_ , my boy.”

Mantaro sniffed. He half-closed his eyes, as Bibimba continued to stroke at his head. The gesture appeared to be lulling him into a deep sleep, as the tension left his muscles and he leaned his weight against his kneeling mother, and Chaos sat still in shock beside him, as he stared ahead with a glassy and unfocused gaze. Robin squeezed at Suguru’s shoulder, while Mantaro staved off his cries and rubbed at his eyes with a tired hand. Mantaro asked in a crackling voice:

“Can we just sit here for a while?”

“Of course, my love . . .”


	14. Chapter 14

_‘So what’re your thoughts?’_

_Rinko smiled. The porch-swing rocked back-and-forth. It creaked with the gentle movements, as the breeze caught at her hair and rustled loose a few stray locks, and Chaos – with a pout – remained at some distance, where he leaned against a tree on the edge of the garden. The scent of the flowers mingled with freshly baked bread from the kitchen, where the voices of Mantaro and Sister mingled with Bibimba and Suguru. Chaos choked out in a whisper:_

_‘I kind of hope he’ll give the child up for adoption.’_

_‘What?’ Rinko asked. ‘Really?’_

_‘Yeah.’ Chaos sighed. ‘We’re too young for a child, and I don’t think Mantaro would cope. It’s also not fair on the kid, is it? I mean, what do we do later on . . . when the kid doesn’t look like me, or even if we break up and I’m not the legal father? How can we explain to them that they’re a product of_ rape _and expect them to just accept that? You saw what it did to Thunder.’_

_‘Yeah, but he was also an extreme case. I can get what you’re saying, though . . . if the kid’s with you guys, there’s obstacles to overcome, but if he’s with a good and stable family -?He gets a good head-start, doesn’t he? He’ll have a good home, a good support base . . .’_

_‘We did fine, didn’t we? I mean, we were happy growing up . . .’_

_Chaos furrowed his brow. He turned his head towards the orphanage. The window into the kitchen showcased a whole wall filled with framed photographs of the years, but – even as the orphans took up a great deal of space – Chaos and Rinko filled most of the wall . . . one in particular of them side-by-side in a playground with smiles. Rinko rubbed at her heart, as she let loose a long sigh and forced the smile to reach her eyes. Just inside the kitchen, Suguru paced enough to occasionally block out the photographs from eyesight. Chaos groaned._

_‘My mom was the best,’ chirped Rinko. ‘I sometimes wondered why my parents gave me up, for sure, but I never regret that they did . . . they left me somewhere they knew I’d be safe, but – more than that – they gave me the most wonderful momma I could ever want.’_

_‘I – I feel that way a bit, too.’ Chaos sniffed. ‘I miss my mom and dad more than anything, but I never wanted for anything under Sister’s care, and I always felt like I was loved and wanted and respected in Gakincho House, too. It wasn’t the same, but maybe that’s because I knew what was missing and that my parents didn’t want to give me up, but . . . I was loved.’_

_‘I mean, the only thing is . . . well . . . couldn’t_ you _adopt the kid, too? There’s nothing to say that the brat would have to suffer, right? Maybe you could love them enough, just like Sister and Mama Mari, to make it so that they never feel bad about their conception . . . maybe.’_

_Chaos slumped down, where he crouched on his heels. The pursing of his lips aged him, as his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, and his gaze fixated on a line of ants, as they moved obediently in perfect order towards a far anthill. Rinko caught her feet on the floor and stopped the swing, before she leaned forward and locked eyes with Chaos. He stared hard at her. The furrow to his brow was at odds with his trembling smile, and his shaking hand moved to his stomach, as he lightly stroked at the skin. In time, he choked out:_

_‘Yeah, maybe . . .’_

* * *

It was cold. Every breath was visible in the night, like small bursts of steam or smoke. The puddles on the pavement shone with dozens of coloured lights, as the streetlamps sparkled overhead, and the beams from the cars cast long shadows behind him. Mantaro brought his hands to his mouth, as he blew warm air over chilled skin. The glass of his watch caught the light. He was running late for _karaoke_ , which meant the others would be concerned . . .

He picked up his pace, as he jammed his hands into his pockets. The buzz of his phone brought a low sigh, before he pulled it out to check the screen . . . _‘you still telling them about the pregnancy tonight? Chaos xoxo’_. . . Mantaro winced. He rammed the phone back into his pocket and stormed forward. He kept his head low. The breeze ruffled his tuft of brown hair, while he hunched forward to avoid being recognised. The crowds around were the late-night type of people . . . drinkers, party-goers, commuters . . . he avoided eye-contact.

The street veered off to a pedestrian-only area. A series of small alleys splintered off like a labyrinth, with some filled with nice and independent stores, and – even with the karaoke bar just ahead – a row of food stalls tempted him to turn his head . . . a blur entered his peripheral vision. There was no time to turn back. A pair of rough hands grabbed at his coat, dragging him into the alleyway and ramming him against into a doorway, and shoved him hard against the wood with enough force that his skull bounced off with a searing pain in his scalp.

It was hard to focus. The double-vision cause his eyesight to spin, as his eyes danced with a burst of colour, and the random attacker pressed uncomfortably against him, almost chest-to-chest as they towered above him and cast him into absolute shadow. No one would see them from the food stalls and small shops. No one would see them passing the alleyway. They would only see them if they walked directly past, and even then they would assume a romantic tryst . . .

“Did I scare you?”

The voice broke something in Mantaro. He slowly raised his head, only to see a familiar face grinning down at him with teeth bared and eyes narrowed. A cold sweat broke over his skin, as warm breath fell moist on his cheek, and – snapping his head away – callused fingers jerked his head back. Buffaloman stared. It was a cold and dark stare, which brought a tremble to Mantaro’s limbs and made his mouth run dry, and the world spun around him.

Mantaro sniffed. He panted. A ball of nausea built inside his stomach, rising and bubbling and expanding deep inside, until it burned at the back of his throat . . . _adrenaline, endorphins, tension_. . . his hands clenched into fist, and his jaw tightened until teeth ground. He flared his nostrils and raised his head. The beating of his heart echoed out about his ears, as a harsh hiss of breath slid through his teeth, and – with a low growl – he raised both hands and shoved at Buffaloman’s chest. It knocked the man back a step. Buffaloman dropped open his mouth.

“I’m not scared of you,” spat Mantaro. “Not any more.”

“Yeah? Is that fucking right?”

Buffaloman chuckled, before he stepped forward. He slammed a hand just beside Mantaro’s head, with enough force that the door shuddered and creaked, and Mantaro – jumping with a yelp of breath – threw his hands over his mouth, while his eyes watered. Buffaloman moaned an obscene sound, as he leaned close to Mantaro and licked a long line from his collarbone to his chin, before pressing a kiss to his lips that lingered. A few choked sobs escaped Mantaro, as he shot his gaze from side to side . . . _no one was passing by, no one was nearby . . ._

“You taste afraid to me,” teased Buffaloman.

Mantaro wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. The tremble of his lips betrayed his emotion, until – with contorted face and narrowed eyes – he spat at Buffaloman’s face. It was a true aim. The spit struck him crudely on the cheek. It washed away the smile from that now flushed face, as Buffaloman darkened his expression and remained deathly still. The spit slowly ran down his cheek, until he brushed it away with the back of his hand, and – with a loud huff – he fisted his hand and bounced it several times in the air between them. He punched forward.

The blow was fast and well-aimed, but Mantaro was even quicker. He threw up his arms into the position of a Muscle Curtain, blocking the punch with perfect precision, and pushed back to knock Buffaloman centre of the alleyway, before stepping forward just in front of him. They were in plain sight now of passers-by on the main road, and they were in plain sight of the few shops and stalls that littered the alley itself. Mantaro shouted out for others to hear:

“What do you _want_?”

Buffaloman looked both ways down the alley. A couple passed by where it opened up onto the main street, and they paused to look both of them over, until Buffaloman forced a ‘jolly’ laugh and waved them onward. The nearest shopkeeper came outside and stood with folded arms, as he leaned against his doorframe and watched them . . . Mantaro heaved a low sigh, as he smiled and nodded to the man. The man nodded back. Buffaloman ran a hand over his face and muttered:

“I hear you’re pregnant.”

The colour drained from Mantaro’s face. He stared up at that hard face, before he stepped back towards the entrance into the main street, and he purposely blocked movement in and out of the small archway . . . _someone would come, someone would see him_ . . . Mantaro lowered a hand to his stomach. There was a small swelling of skin, just noticeable to anyone who knew for what to look, but there was no kick . . . only a slight fluttering inside . . . he swayed, while his free hand came to press against his temple. A few shallow and broken breaths escaped him.

“So what?” Mantaro asked. “Why do you care?”

“I know it’s my fucking kid,” spat Buffaloman. “Ikemen and Robin Mask have been on at my lawyers and the police, trying to get my parental rights revoked, and they’re talking about adoption, too, like you’re planning on getting rid of my child. You know that’s my kid in there, right? They wouldn’t even be in there if not for me, but you’ll just toss them away?”

“You – You don’t get a say in what I do with _my_ body!” Mantaro pushed him. “You fucking _raped_ me, Buffaloman! You got to use my body any how you wanted, and I didn’t get a say in any of it, like it wasn’t my body or my right . . . you violated me, you used me, you abused me . . . I – I’m not letting you do that now. This is _my_ child and _my_ body. You might have got to say in how they were conceived, but you don’t get a say in what I do with them . . .

“Just because you give someone a gift, doesn’t mean they have to keep it. By law, whatever you give them is theirs . . . no conditions. You _forced_ this thing on me; I can abort it, I can adopt it out, or I can keep it and raise it, but – whatever I choose – you’re just a sperm donor and forfeited all rights when you shoved your cock into me without my consent. _Fuck you_!”

“Huh, now you’ve grown a back-bone? Interesting . . .”

“I – I’m telling you to leave me alone.”

Mantaro folded his arms across his chest. He shot a glance to the shopkeeper, who – with a nod – pulled out his phone and quickly chatted to someone on the other end . . . ‘ _please be the police’_ . . . a series of quick and shallow breaths were all Mantaro could manage, as tears pricked at his eyes and distorted his vision. Mantaro shuffled from foot to foot, as he drew in great gulps of oxygen and fought back the movement of his lips . . . _‘no, no, no’_. . . Buffaloman raised his hand and wagged a finger an inch from Mantaro’s face with violent waves.

“You forget that this ain’t about consent,” said Buffaloman. “I got what I wanted last time, and I’ll get what I want this time . . . you forget that I still got those photographs and videos, and if you don’t want the whole world to see _exactly_ what I saw -? You’ll let me be a parent to my own kid. This spine of yours is sexy and all, but I’m getting bored of it now, Junior.”

Buffaloman stepped forward. He licked his lips, as he towered over Mantaro. The dark shadow loomed over him, while the heavy scent of sweat and cologne flooded his senses, and – as he choked back on tears – a hand came slowly towards him. It came towards his face, as it sought to stroke at his skin. Mantaro flinched away. It was all that Buffaloman needed to quick jerk his hand downward without time or notice to deflect, and he grabbed at Mantaro’s penis.

The grope was sudden and hard, with fingers digging into intimate crevices. Mantaro’s eyes widened. A familiar burst of adrenaline shot through every vein, as he swayed and shivered and stumbled over his words, but then the realisation dawned . . . _Mantaro was the one with the power to say ‘no’_. He brought back his hand. He slapped Buffaloman. It was a hard and ringing strike, with enough force for blood to trickle from that prominent nose, and a cut formed on that rough lip, as Mantaro pulled back his stinging palm. The hand on his genitals let go.

“You’re breaking your restraining order by being here,” spat Mantaro. “Even if I kept it, and even if you could somehow get parental rights, do you think any judge in this galaxy would give a child molester like you access to a new victim? I’m a prince of a planet, while you’re just trash that is probably going to know _exactly_ how I felt when you’re in chojin prison.”

“Is that a fact? You got anything more to say?”

“Y-Yeah, I do! I – I – I think you’re a coward. I think you’re cornering me in some alley, because you want to scare me and intimidate me into submission . . . you pick on the weak, and you pick on people who can’t fight back, and as soon as someone ‘shows a spine’, you back off because you don’t know how to react. Well, you know what? I’m not going to give into your blackmail. Hell, I might even go for an abortion . . . rid myself of you completely.”

Buffaloman laughed. It was a dark and bitter sound, one that reverberated from the brick walls and cobbled pavements, and it brought a few of the locals stepping forward, until Mantaro raised a hand and signalled them to go about their business. The shopkeeper on the phone spoke at a greater speed, while gesturing animatedly towards them. Buffaloman ignored the attention brought down upon them, as he marched towards Mantaro. He stopped only when their chests were pressed together. He poked a finger into Mantaro’s stomach and spat:

“You get rid of this one and I’ll put a new one in you.”

Mantaro let loose a sound between a squeal and a scoff. He shoved hard at Buffaloman, knocking him back a few small steps, and ran back into the main street, where he continued to run until a small crowd forced him to stall and stop. The shops on either side were larger chain stores . . . _a famous curry house, a hostess bar, an izakaya_. . . Mantaro panted while a group of students looked to him and asked if he needed help. The tears burst over his cheeks.

He brought his hands to his face, while one of the students led him to the side. The bright lights of a local restaurant left nowhere for anyone to hide . . . _‘I think he’s a chojin; don’t a bunch of chojin hang out in the bar over there?’_. . . Mantaro slid down the wall. He crouched with his hands closing of their own accord, as pins and needles struck all his extremities. A girl told him to breath. A young man draped his jacket over him. He barely heard the rushed footsteps to his side, but he did hear the all too familiar voice of Kid knelt beside him.

Mantaro slowly lifted his head. Kid wore his brown jacket with a cowboy hat, a stereotypical appearance and that tended to work well with the ‘ladies’, as Kid dubbed them, but his smile was long gone and instead there was only a frown that deepened the lines about his face. Kid scratched at his head and thanked the human crowd, before they dispersed and left Kid alone to deal with the crying chojin on the side of the road. Kid chirped in a loud falsetto:

“Hey there, Partner! What’s got ya all riled?”

“It – It’s Buffaloman. He – He was there and threatened me and –”

“Oh that _son of a camel-toed whore_!”

Kid called out for a girl to stay with Mantaro. He ran quickly out of sight, stopping only to ask a few people questions that led him to the alleyway, and soon he was out of sight, until Mantaro was left alone again . . . _that hand on his flesh, the breath on his skin_ . . . Mantaro fell. The girl struggled to help him upright, as she screamed out for Kid to come back. The world faded into black. He dropped his head. It lolled about his chest, until Kid reappeared in his vision and helped him onto his feet with a few loud curses. Mantaro braced his weight on his friend.

“The shopkeeper said he legged it that way,” muttered Kid. “Don’t yer worry that pretty little head, though; we’ll get ya inside where it’s safe, and ah’ll give Ikemen a call . . . maybe it’s time you thought about heading back to Planet Kinniku for a while? Waiting it out there?”

“Yeah.” Mantaro heaved a shuddered sigh. “I think you’re right.”

“Let’s just get you inside. Ya need to lie down.”

Mantaro struggled to keep pace, as his feet dragged across the ground. The world was still hazy and unfocused, while the cold air did little to ground him, and Kid hoisted him upward one more time, as he better threw an arm around his waist to better balance the weight. Buffaloman was still out there . . . somewhere . . . Mantaro did his best to keep his gaze forward on the karaoke bar, but his heart still raced at the idea he was not alone . . . that his abuser was out there . . .

He looked back one last time.


	15. Chapter 15

“ _Not that box!”_

Chaos darted towards Rinko, as he stumbled over a few stray cushions. He landed flat on his front, and – as his chin struck against the floorboards – a groan escaped his lips. Rinko stood with legs parted, towering over his prone form. The small wooden box sat in her hands, while she cocked her head to the side with a smirk, and shook at the box until its contents rattled, something like the soft thud of plastic on the velvet lining of the wood.

The item inside buzzed with a low hum. He flushed a deep shade of red, before clamouring to his feet and scrambling to snatch at the intricately carved box that sat in soft hands, and Rinko burst into laughter, as his lips fumbled and stumbled over half-formed words. Rinko laughed all the harder, as he snatched the box from her hand and tried to sneak the lid half-open. He struggled to fit his finger through the gap. Each time he pressed the button to turn off the device, it would change rhythm or intensity instead, and his eyes started to water with tears.

“Oh my God,” teased Rinko. “Is that seriously a -?”

“N-No, it’s not! J-Just shut up, will you?”

He eventually turned off the device, before throwing the box to one side. It landed in one of the many cardboard boxes, ready to be moved to Planet Kinniku, and on its side was written a simple ‘Chaos’ Collection’, as a series of well-packaged action figures lay perfectly placed. The box sat beside an array of others . . . _‘Mantaro’s Clothes’, ‘Chaos’ Books’, ‘Trophies’_. . . Jacqueline tore a piece of tape with her teeth, as she sat beside a large box, and quickly taped up the lid and kept the contents out of sight. Rinko laughed, as she sat down on a box of books.

Mantaro chuckled, with his mask hiding his blush. He knelt down beside a selection of photo albums, where he casually flicked through a selection with a bright smile, and commented on how Chaos had improved on his technique, while cracking jokes at one of Rinko’s cosplay outfits. Rinko swore and snatched the book from him, as it was his turn to laugh and joke. A loud slapping sound rang out, as Rinko smacked him playfully on the head with the book.

Jacqueline sighed. A muttered ‘play nice, children’ fell from her mouth, before she held out a hand expectantly and took the album from Rinko, and – with a low exhale of breath – slid the album carefully into a nearby moving box. Chaos leaned back. It was warm in his bedroom, while the sounds of the children playing outside echoed about through his window, and Genta played music downstairs with Ms Mari. The scent of beef drifted up from the kitchen, as Sister cooked their favourite meal. Mantaro shot Chaos an embarrassed gaze.

“I – I forgot we had that,” said Mantaro.

“Y-Yeah, it’s been a while, huh?” Chaos flushed. “Er, Meat rang to say he has everything packed up that’s left in Kinniku House. I think he’ll fly out to Planet Kinniku tomorrow, so he can help your parents unpack some of your stuff, and then we can fly out with my stuff and the rest of yours later this week, but . . . you sure you want to move out? Are you really ready?”

Mantaro leaned back against the wall. He stared upwards at the ceiling, where an array of glow-in-the-dark stars marked out the constellations from Planet Kinniku, and a faint smile broke lines about his cheeks, as he scratched at his neck. The small swell to his stomach was hidden beneath a thick knit of a sweater, but Chaos dropped his eyes just enough to catch the hint of a bump, and he furrowed his brow and purse his lips, before shaking his head with a smile. Mantaro dropped his hand lazily over his stomach. He kicked out his legs and hummed a strange tune.

“Yeah, it’ll be good to go home.” A big smile broke over him. “My uncle always used to sneak me out camping as a child, and we’d count the stars and paddle in the river and look out for rare species of birds. My granddad will be on at me to study again, while criticising my pops for being too lenient, but he’s the first one to celebrate my big wins! I – I’ll also be happy to get hugs from my mom and dad . . . to have my mum’s home-cooked meals, too . . .”

“Remember our sleepovers as kids?” Chaos laughed. “I’d spend every summer there, because your dad said it’d be good for a prince to spend time with a prince . . . one time we were under the covers late at night, so he burst in all horrified, but – when he threw back the covers – he saw we were swapping _kinkeshi_ with flashlights to check out their various stats.”

“He was so embarrassed! We were still a bit too young to be interested in sex and stuff, so you just turned to him and showed him a rare edition of a Ramenman figure and went: ‘mine is bigger than his’! Oh my god, he looked ready to die from embarrassment! I’m so glad that we got to grow up together . . . I never thought we’d get together, when you started dating Rinko . . .”

“Yeah, but we did, didn’t we?” Chaos blinked back tears. “Ramenman told me that every choice we make, even if it doesn’t seem the ‘right’ one in hindsight, is a necessary choice to get us to where we are today . . . without every wrong turn, we’d never find the right path. I – I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I’m glad for the chance to move to Planet Kinniku with you and make a new life for ourselves. I’ll support you every step of the way, Mantaro.”

They locked eyes, each with a deep blush across their cheeks. Rinko muttered a half-hearted complaint about _‘nice to know I was the wrong choice’_ , which brought a low chuckle from Jacqueline, who walked over to her and kissed her with a lingering touch. The sun shone through the windows, catching at her red hair and adding a shine. They parted with giggles. Rinko blushed and pushed Jacqueline back a few steps, before Jacqueline giggled and returned to packing the boxes, and – as she put away a few stray keepsakes – she looked back to Mantaro.

“You guys are a cute couple,” said Jacqueline.

“Yeah, but are we forgetting the elephant in the room?” Rinko winced. “I hate to be the negative one in the corner, but – like – what are you guys doing about the baby? I mean . . . this might be the last time we meet face-to-face for a while, because I can’t up and leave school or my family, but . . . am I going to be an auntie or not, you know? I’m kind of curious.”

“You guys don’t have to tell us, even – well – assuming you’ve come to a decision.” Jacqueline brushed back a stray lock of hair. “If it helps, my brother said he’s happy to work from Planet Kinniku for a while, so we’ll be there to offer any support you need!”

“I’ll come visit as soon as school lets out, too. I’m super psyched!”

“I told my father to find my old toys out for the baby, too.”

Mantaro smiled. He ran his hands over his stomach, while Jacqueline picked up a small plush bear . . . it was torn in places with stuffing peeking out, and a few stains decorated its face, as one eye dangled down from the fabric. It was well-loved. Chaos smiled to remember the first day at Gakincho House, where Kinnikuman burst through the doors and chirped: _‘I found out a few of your old toys from Planet Avenir that survived the fires, thought it might cheer you up’_! It was one of the few connections to his parents, as well as a constant friend in childhood.

Mantaro extended a hand towards Jacqueline, who leaned over and handed him the bear. He pulled a little at the loose arm, before pushing the stuffing back inside, and – reaching for a small sewing kit – made expert surgical stitches along the split seam. Chaos crawled over the floor beside him, where he plopped down and leaned his head on a broad shoulder. Mantaro paused, kissed at his mop of blond hair, and continued to sew, before he whispered:

“I think I’ve decided to keep them.”

The room fell silent. Jacqueline dropped a set of toiletries, spilling moisturiser across the carpet, and – with a loud curse – fumbled around for a cloth to mop up the contents. Rinko rapidly blinked, while her mouth opened and closed in attempt for words. Chaos watched as the bear regained it limb, as it was never lost in the first place, while the eye was next reattached with a calm and patient hand. A low shuffle echoed about the room, as Rinko slid across the floor to sit on the other side of Mantaro, and lowered her voice to ask quietly:

“How does that make you feel?”

“I don’t know, if I’m honest,” said Mantaro. “I – I think I could still change my mind, but I know that my parents will be over the moon . . . they love children, so they’d love a grandchild to spoil rotten, and I think I can learn from their mistakes to raise the child well. I don’t want them forced into one path, you know? I think that’s my fear, if I gave them up for adoption . . .

“They tend to force chojin children onto chojin parents, but chojin parents always end up forcing their kids into wrestling, and look how that turned out for Kevin Mask? He ran away from home, and joined an evil gang, and then ended up sleeping with his father’s best friend. He’s a mess! I know Ikemen feels inadequate, and Kid’s got deep daddy issues, and they’re the good cases, because look at Checkmate and Bone Cold. Still, I know I can’t just . . . I can’t . . .

“I know it’s not good for me to keep them _just_ because I’m scared of the alternatives, especially when Rinko and Chaos had _amazing_ lives as adopted children, but . . . I can’t switch off this feeling that they’re a part of me. I feel like I’d regret giving them up too much, because I feel like they’re _my_ child, and while I feel that way -? I have to keep them. I just do.”

“And what about Chaos? How does he feel?”

“Conflicted,” admitted Chaos. “I’m not ready to be a dad, but I can’t turn my back on Mantaro when he needs me, either. I also know that Sister was like a mother to me . . . she gave me love, support, and respect . . . I’ll never be able to repay her, and I’ll carry her with me in my heart until the day I die. Maybe – Maybe I could do that for our child, too?”

The last stitch completed the stuffed bear. It looked almost new, with its eyes watching them from its smiling face, and Mantaro – with a squeeze of the body – made its restored arms wave at them, bringing laughter from all around. Chaos gently took the bear back. If he brought it to his nose and breathed deep, he could almost fall himself into believing he could catch the scent of his mother’s perfume, father’s sweat, and the pollen of his homeland. He pressed a kiss to the bear, before handing it back to Jacqueline, who packed it away with gentle respect.

“Are you doing this because it’s what _you_ want?” Jacqueline asked. “I know you, Mantaro. You act too much out of fear of how other people might react, like you have to live up to their expectations, but you know no one is expecting you to raise a child that you might not want to raise, right? Maybe there’s a middle-ground, too?”

“Like what?” Chaos asked. 

“Maybe someone close to you could adopt them? Your parents could raise them like a sibling, or a family friend could raise them so you could still be a part of their lives . . . it might not have to be an either/or situation, Chaos. It’s just . . . let’s consider everything, okay?”

Mantaro nodded. He furrowed his brow. It was an option neither had considered . . . _the child never needing to know about its conception, the child with loving parents ready to raise them, always being able to be a part of its life . . ._ Chaos took Mantaro’s hand, where he ran his thumb over the back with a soft graze. He brought it to his lips for a kiss. Mantaro sighed and leaned against him, until they were cuddled against each other with fingers entwined, and both gazed about the mostly packed room, as their new future lay ahead of them.

“I mean, I guess we do need to think it through more,” admitted Mantaro. “My mom pointed out there’s a lot to consider more than nighttimes feedings and vaccinations . . . schooling, play-dates, training . . . hell, Chaos and I can’t even decide on a name, let alone big stuff!”

“That’s because you want ‘Masaru’ for a name.”

“Well, it beats ‘Seconds’ Kinniku.”

“That’s a family name!”

“Puns are a family tradition for us, too!”

The two glared at each other, before snapping their heads away with a huff. Rinko laughed. It was loud and sincere and familiar, enough that it brought both their gazes towards her, and – seeing her smile – they smiled in turn, until they joined in on the laughter. Jacqueline shook her head and continued to busy herself with the boxes, as she put Chaos’ to one side and Mantaro’s to the other, and soon her hands were on her hips, as she did a mental check of what remained. It was a level of organisation beyond Chaos, who called out a ‘thank you’, before Rinko said:

“You two really _are_ still a super cute couple.”

“That’s because Mantaro’s super cute.” Chaos blushed and looked down. “I – I mean . . . I r-really like him and I k-know we’ll spend a lifetime together. This isn’t easy, but . . . that’s what love is about, right? It’s about overcoming all obstacles to be together.”

“And I just know we’ll overcome everything,” chirped Mantaro.

“Damn straight! I’m not going anywhere.”

They shared a brief kiss through their laughter. It was clumsy and broken by the giggles, yet it was oddly perfect for the intimacy and sheer burst of emotion, and each pulled away with eyes lingering and pupils dilated. Chaos whispered ‘I love you’. The silence between them was comfortable, letting them each listen to their own racing hearts. Mantaro chuckled, before delivering a series of chaste pecks to blushing cheeks, and together they embraced.

 _A beep from his phone_ . . .

Chaos sighed, as the familiar text-tone echoed about the bedroom. He whispered an apology, as he ignored the phone in his pocket . . . it would only be Sister telling them that dinner was ready, or Genta sending screenshots of something spotted online . . . Chaos nuzzled against Mantaro, as he sneaked in a subtle kiss to his neck. A second beep followed. This time it was from what sounded like Sister’s phone outside . . . Mantaro and Jacqueline’s phones beeped almost in perfect unison, followed by Rinko’s customised ring-tone. There was something wrong.

They all reached for their phones. The number on the screen was unknown, but the international code was clearly for Japan, and there was a video attached that used a great deal of memory, enough that Chaos’ heart sank ice-cold into his stomach. He swiped at the screen with trembling fingers, as he fumbled with the unlock code. The video came alive. It was played on their four screens at slightly different times, causing a staggered and echoing effect . . . _‘I – I don’t . . ._ _please,_ _stop! I – I – I don’t – I can’t ’ . . ._ the camera moved.

Chaos swallowed back the bile.

Buffaloman stood naked on camera, with a pair of legs around his waist. He was hunched forward, while a series of grunts and groans broke through the speakers, and the camera rocked in time with his thrusts, until Chaos skipped ahead. The video continued. It was clearly in Buffaloman’s hands . . . _‘you’ve done your job, whore’_. . . Mantaro was prone and limp on a desk in an office, covered in sweat and come and bruises. Jacqueline choked out:

“Oh, Mantaro . . .”

The phone tumbled from Mantaro’s hands. It dropped onto the floor. Chaos swore and turned off his device, before snatching them from the open-mouthed Jacqueline and Rinko, and – once all were powered down – raced back to Mantaro, who stared ahead . . . _glassy eyed, unfocused gaze, pale skin._ Chaos sat before him, as he chanted ‘hey’ and shook his hands. There was no response . . . even as Chaos lightly slapped at his cheeks, not a single word was uttered.

Rinko paced back and forth, as a slew of vile curses spewed from her lips. Jacqueline blinked back tears and snatched at her phone, before darting from the bedroom to make a series of calls, and meanwhile Mantaro stared ahead . . . mute, empty, still . . . Chaos sighed. He forced a smile, but his lips trembled so much that it contorted into something grotesque. He tasted tears as he wept. Chaos ran his hands over that ghostly face, as he begged and pleaded for Mantaro to come back to him, but Mantaro failed to react . . . failed to speak . . . Chaos choked out:

“I’m so sorry, Mantaro . . .”


	16. Chapter 16

_‘Mantaro, please, you have to eat!’_

_Chaos hammered on the door. It vibrated beneath the sheer force, while the sides of his palm tuned red from the pressure against the thick wood. The palace guards turned their heads with pained expressions, as they gripped at their halberds and stood on either side of the door, and Chaos dropped his head against the door, as he drew in a deep breath. Meat stood beside him. He put a hand on Chaos’ leg and squeezed, as he stared at the door with watery eyes, and together they listened to Bibimba pace down the corridor. Meat asked in a small voice:_

_‘He still won’t come out?’_

_‘It’s been two days since he opened the door,’ croaked Chaos. ‘Suguru is saying he’ll break down the door soon, because he won’t eat or talk or see a doctor . . . Ikemen has moved in temporarily with Jacqueline, but Mantaro won’t even talk to them. It’s like . . . It’s like he’s there in body only, like his mind has just given up. I’m really worried, Meat!’_

_‘He – He’s still responding to texts and calls, albeit he’s – ah – not really talking much . . . I’ve made sure there’s a doctor on hand, and as soon as he comes out -?’ Meat sighed. ‘We’ll get him into the palace infirmary and give him a look over. We’ll make sure he’s okay.’_

_‘But he’s_ not _okay, Meat! He’s not fucking okay!’_

 _Chaos threw a hand over his mouth. The colour drained from his skin, as he swallowed hard and thought back to his childhood . . ._ parents slapping his hand over a bad word, nuns lecturing him on right and wrong types of language . . . _tears pricked at his eyes. He drew in choked and broken breaths, while his hands trembled and his body grew cold. The door blocked the royal bedroom . . . it blocked sight of Mantaro, it blocked access to Mantaro . . . Chaos wept:_

_‘I – I’m sorry . . .’_

_He spun around and fell back, so that the door bore his weight. Chaos slid down to the ground, framed by the two guards, and Meat stood opposite him, where he wiped underneath his glasses with the edges of his cape. The two of them remained in silence, even as a shuffling noise inside the bedroom betrayed movement, and a television turned on loud to drown out their knocks and shouts. The tears stung at his eyes, as the bright lights shone down on him. Bibimba stopped pacing. Meat hunched his shoulders. Chaos buried his hands into his hair and whispered:_

_‘I just want for him to be okay.’_

* * *

Jacqueline paced. The lounge was warm and bright, with large windows overlooking the grand gardens beyond the clear panes of glass, and a roaring fireplace sent flickers of light against the far wall, while illuminating the faces of those in the lounge with a soft glow. It was reminiscent of their manor home, back on Planet Harabote, but with décor and antiques that their home lacked. A sweet scent of _hors d’oeuvres_ drifted from a low table before the fire.

Meat sat cross-legged on the floor, just in front of Suguru, and fidgeted with his hands in his lap, as his thumbs ran circles over one another. He was pale. Jacqueline stopped in her pacing, as he shoulders slumped and her lips pressed into a tight line. A whispered reassurance died in her mouth, as only a low gasp escaped her throat, but – with a shake of her head – she continued to pace once more, while Ikemen pleaded with her to sit beside him on the sofa. He bore a smile, but his eyes were watery with tears, and his hand shook as he gestured. Jacqueline asked:

“Is he rejecting _everyone_ who comes to his door?”

A broken sob emitted from Chaos. He wiped at his nose with his forearm, while he hunched forward on an armchair not far from the group, and his body remained angled away, as he stared into those high flames with a glassy gaze. Suguru and Bibimba sat side-by-side with hands clasped together, with Bibimba wrapping her arms around Suguru, as she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. The guards kept their place on either side of every door, while Jacqueline dug her hands deep into her hair and flared her nostrils.

“I think we need to force him out,” said Jacqueline.

“I hate to day it,” said Meat, “but I agree with Jacqueline.”

“I mean, he’s not even answering the door to his _granddad_?” Jacqueline shook her head. “I know he’s not the most respect for his family, but he usually always listens to his grandfather, and he _worships_ his mother, so I can’t even imagine why he won’t answer to her, at least. I just – I just feel like we’re doing the wrong thing by letting him stew in his depression, you know?”

“It’s not good for him. The only thing that kept me going after – after . . . after Buffaloman attacked me . . . w-was the support of my friends. It kept me busy . . . it made it so that I couldn’t just lose myself in the sadness and sense of violation. I wouldn’t have made it else.”

“But . . .” Ikemen sighed and scratched his head. “I hate to point out the obvious, but Buffaloman didn’t take photographs of you without your consent and release them to every single person that you know. I – I know I’ve underestimated Mantaro at times, and it’s easy to believe him still a child and not the man he’s become, but . . . can _any_ of us really comprehend this? The press has a photograph of me in my face-mask once in a local newspaper, but I cried for a week!”

Jacqueline winced. It was a common experience . . . _photographs of Suguru and Mari hugging, misconstrued as an affair . . . videos of Kid getting into a fight, edited to avoid showing that it was in self-defence . . . images of herself without make-up, accusations of ‘letting herself go’ . . ._ it was a violating experience in the very minor of cases. Jacqueline stopped pacing, as she came to a stop just behind Chaos. He curled into a ball. He looked so childlike, as his chest heaved with silent sobs, and her hand gently rested on his bare back, as she whispered:

“He must be devastated that we all saw what we saw.”

The soft sighs and sobs from Bibimba broke Jacqueline. It brought he hunched forward, as she clutched at her stomach and screwed shut her eyes, but – on opening them – Bibimba still dabbed at her eyes and still forced a trembling smile . . . the sadness could not be wished away. Jacqueline sat on the arm of the chair, while her hand slid down Chaos’ back. The light touch was pulled away when he winced, so that she wrapped her arms about her body, and her eyes moved from person to person, as everyone sat in awkward silence.

“He won’t open the door to me,” whispered Bibimba.

“Does he know that the photographs were deleted?” Ikemen asked.

“It’s hard to tell him when we can only talk to him by the fucking phone,” snapped Suguru. “Sorry, I – I don’t mean to swear, but . . . _fuck_. It’s hard to believe that I’m having to talk to my own _son_ by text and calls, and just – just – just _hoping_ he’s getting the messages and hoping he’ll answer! I can’t tell him anything . . . he’s just there all alone . . .”

“Well, it _might_ help if he knows that the messages were sent only to people close to Mantaro, which means that the messages were able to be deleted and not passed further. They aren’t online or in the press or saved to any device . . . it’s – it’s still a violation, but it’s been fixed.”

“They said they arrested Buffaloman, right?” Meat asked. “I – I think they said that they were able to get the evidence they needed from the messages, so they can press charges for child pornography, blackmail, harassment, and a slew of other offences, but . . .”

“But even if he goes to prison, it doesn’t undo the sense of violation!” Chaos shouted. “Okay, so he’s under arrest, and his devices have been found and everything’s deleted, but . . . how can that undo the fact everyone saw him being _raped_? That was sent to everyone . . . _everyone_ . . . even Sister, Ramenman, and Ms Mari saw it . . . his _parents_ saw it! I mean . . . _shit_.”

Chaos made to stand up. Jacqueline pressed a quick hand to his shoulder, as she pushed him back down onto the chair and shook her head. He frowned and opened his mouth, but a stern stare silenced him and forced him to fall limp against the cushions, and – with a sigh – she pressed a chaste kiss to his blond hair, as she mentally thanked that he was so easily calmed. Chaos rocked back and forth, as his breaths came out in low hisses. The fire cast dark shadows about his face, as his body contorted into a strange position, and Jacqueline blinked back her tears.

“I recovered from the rape,” whispered Meat. “It left its scar, but I recovered. I know it’s different for Mantaro, and I’m not going to pretend like I know how this feels, but Buffaloman is in a jail cell waiting to be sentenced and everything is deleted. It’ll take time, but he _will_ feel better and be able to move forward. This will all just be a horrible memory.”

“So what?” Chaos asked. “We just sit here twiddling our thumbs?”

“You’ve experience trauma, my boy,” added Suguru. “It wasn’t easy for you; you saw your village and parents slaughtered, you were - . . . _ah_ . . . you were hurt by Lightning and Thunder in the process, and fled to Horae’s grave until we found you. It took you _years_ to come to terms with that level of tragedy, and you still get panic attacks and nightmares . . .”

“It’s just that sometimes all you can do is wait,” choked Bibimba. “We felt helpless with you, too, and we spent so many nights just sitting and waiting and hoping for the best, but . . . ultimately . . . you came through and were stronger than ever. It’ll be okay . . . I hope.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to just ‘hope’,” spat Chaos.

He buried his face in his hands, as Jacqueline walked over to the windows. The view of the gardens was spectacular, but so too was the view of the landscapes beyond, and – high above – a flock of birds flew that were native to their home-planet. A few clouds brushed over the sun, casting down long shadows. Meat stood behind her and stoked the fire, while Ikemen pulled out his phone and flicked quickly through his work emails. The world carried on around them, even as Mantaro isolated himself, and a shiver ran through her, as she asked in a quiet voice:

“So what now?”

Ikemen grew deathly pale. The finger on his screen shook, until he closed his fist. Jacqueline drew in a quick breath, as her heart quickened in her breast, and – with a staggered step – walked slowly towards Ikemen . . . time stood still around them. All eyes moved to Ikemen, who fixed a cold gaze at his mobile. Chaos scrambled for his phone. A strange silence descended about the lounge, as Ikemen angled his phone towards her as she came beside him, and asked:

“Er, has anyone else seen the headlines?”

The screen showed a newsfeed. It flashed with an automatic video, as a reporter spoke behind a desk, and – as Jacqueline flicked it away – headlines appeared . . . _‘Scandalous Sex Attack’, ‘Hercules Factory Under Investigation’, ‘Buffaloman Arrested’, ‘Pervert Paedophile Pounces on Prince’_. . . a cold sweat broke over her skin. It ran down her back, as she snatched at the phone and flicked through pages and pages of articles. Tears distorted her vision. The hits on the articles ran into the millions, as she choked back on a lump in her throat.

“Is this – like – on _all_ of the Internet?”

“That _is_ how the Internet works, Jacqui, yes.”

“Okay, so, Manta can see this?” Jacqueline wiped at a tear. “If he goes on his phone, he’s going to see the local news and international news and intergalactic news, right? He’s going to see this on every single section, that the prince was _raped_ by Buffaloman? Is this on top of the fact that all his friends and family saw his rape? You’re kidding, right? How did the press even -?”

“I don’t _know_ , Sister! I don’t know. I just . . . _oh no_ . . .”

“What? What ‘oh no’?”

Ikemen jumped to his feet. He nearly knocked her over, as he rammed his phone into the pocket of his skirt, and – grabbing at her arm – he nearly bruised her with the sheer force. Chaos was pacing back and forth, while Meat tried to calm him down, and Bibimba ran with Suguru to speak to various publicists and advisors. The corridors were already heaving with running servants and staff, even as Jacqueline furrowed her brow in an attempt to process events, and Ikemen pulled . . . _dragged_ . . . yanking her towards the door, as he spat back:

“Come with me, Jacqui!”

It was difficult to walk, as he moved at such a quick pace. Each time they turned a corner, her feet would tumble over themselves, and she would stumble until she was nearly on the floor. He refused to let up his pace. He refused to let go of her arm. They marched past the guards to the private royal rooms, while ignoring the orders to stop and threats to escalate matters, and they only stopped once they reached Mantaro’s private bedrooms. Jacqueline panted.

He hammered on the door, while she collapsed back against the wall. The corridor spun, as her throat burned with each breath, and her heat pounded so loudly that it drowned out all other sounds, as she wiped away the sweat from her forehead. Ikemen shouted ‘Mantaro’ over and over, until his voice started to break under the strain. He threw his entire body against the door. He smashed against the wood until it creaked. Over and over, he tried to break the door down while the guards threatened to drag him away should he continue. Jacqueline spat out:

“What’s _with_ you, Ikemen?”

“I wanted to kill myself when people teased me for how I looked,” said Ikemen. “It still makes me cry at times when I remember the bullying as a child. I – I can’t imagine what _this_ kind of trauma must do to a person, but it must be so much worse! We have to get in there.”

The door finally broke. The guards dove for Ikemen, ready to arrest him. There was a rush of motion, as their hands clamoured over his muscles and yanked him back, and – in his defence – she screamed at them a series of demands to stop, until the whole doorway was filled with a cacophony that drew the attention of Chaos and Meat. They stood at the end of the hallway, ready to intervene, when . . . _silence_. The guards stopped. Ikemen stopped. They all fell still, like a tableau, as their eyes fell into the bedroom and stared ahead. There he was: _Mantaro_.

He was on the floor . . . _limp, lifeless, broken_ . . . there was the ‘Blade of Resolution’. It was familiar as both a family heirloom and a sacramental item, but it was red . . . blood coated the blade, until nothing of the usual shine could be seen . . . the handle was half-clutched in a hand that still twitched, but couldn’t quite grip the ivory handle. Mantaro was bleeding from his wrists . . . breaths shallow and cold . . . blood pooled on the floor. Jacqueline choked out:

“Mantaro?”

Jacqueline elbowed the guards and Ikemen, as she ran into the bedroom. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, as she threw herself onto the ground beside him, and her bare knees pressed against still warm and wet blood, as she snatched at his wrists. It was a struggled to get her fingers to press into the wound for pressure, as she held them high above his head. Tears pricked at her eyes. Low cries escaped her throat. Ikemen screamed an order for first-aid, before he raced inside and tore strips of fabric from the bed-sheets for a makeshift tourniquet . . .

“ _Mantaro_ ,” cried Jacqueline. “ _Mantaro, wake up_!”


	17. Chapter 17

_‘No, not my baby boy . . .’_

_Suguru pressed a hand to the closed door. The voices inside were low and muffled, as Jacqueline and Bibimba whispered to one another and paced the room, and – every few minutes – nurses would run in and out with arms filled with bowls laden with blood-soaked fabrics. Each time the door swung open, the curtains around the medical bed would flutter . . . a still foot peeked out from beneath a rough blanket, so white that it may have belonged to a corpse . . ._

_A cold sweat broke over his skin, as he stumbled back. He clutched at his stomach, as his lips tumbled over the words “no, no, no”, and his head shook until his vision blurred, while he tripped over his feet and fell backward. A pair of strong hands grabbed his upper arms. Robin remained behind him, supporting his weight and keeping him upright, while the door swung once more to show a monitor beside the bed . . . it beeped in time with Mantaro’s heart, but Mantaro remained just out of sight even as the curtain swayed . . . the door closed, as Robin whispered:_

_‘All we can do is wait, old chap.’_

_Ikemen sat beside Chaos on a bench, which creaked each time he moved. It was placed just out of way from the bustling doctors and nurses, who continued to race by them, and each time they would jostle Suguru and Robin, while yelling to get out of way, as they avoided eye-contact. Robin spun Suguru around, before he embraced him with a warm touch. He panted. He choked on the air itself, as he pressed his face into the collarbone of his closest friend, and his hands continued to tremble as he thought to the impossible . . . he could still lose Mantaro . . ._

_The door squeaked. A doctor came outside, gently clicking the door closed behind them. The stark white of their coat was stained in places with red and brown, while a heavy sweat accumulated across their brow, and – with a heavy sigh – he stepped towards them. It should have been impossible for the anxiety to increase . . . it should have been impossible to feel worse . . . still, bile burned at Suguru’s throat, as tears distorted his vision._

_‘Is he okay?’ Suguru choked. ‘Is my son okay?’_

_The doctor held a clipboard tight in his hands. The knuckles were white. Suguru grew dizzy, as all blood left his head, and the world swayed around him, until Robin – with a curse – dragged him to the bench beside Ikemen. They propped him upright, while Chaos rushed to fetch water. It was hard to focus . . . hard to stay conscious . . . the doctor knelt before him, with sympathy on one already so sick and so old, and dropped a hand onto his knee. Suguru drew in deep and hissed breaths, which whistled on every intake. The doctor smiled._

_‘He’s stable,’ said the doctor. ‘We believe he will fully heal, and he will regain the full use of his hand and wrist in time, but . . . there was a great deal of blood loss, as well as a strain on his body during the operation and blood transfusion. Prince Mantaro will be fine, and his fertility shouldn’t have been affected, but . . . he has lost the baby. I’m sorry.’_

_Suguru lifted his head. The words twirled around in his mind, as he struggled to focus his gaze and his lips moved around half-formed words. He ran his hands over his face, while the colour drained from his skin, and a rush of oxygen flooded his lungs, as he collapsed back against the wall. Chaos splashed him with water, while Robin and Ikemen tried to fan him. A lazy smile ran over his face, even as his lips trembled and eyes half-closed. Suguru reached out towards the doctor, where his hand brushed against the cheek of the younger man, as he mumbled:_

_‘But my son is okay? He’s alive?’_

_‘He’s alive. You can even speak to him soon.’_

_Finally, the tears spilled forth. He wept. The sound of Chaos praying barely broke his consciousness, while Ikemen jumped away to make rushed phone calls, and Robin ran his hands over every inch of Suguru’s skin, as he checked for temperature and pulse rates. The world moved again. The world was in colour again. Suguru threw back his head, as the tears stained at his mask and ran salty on his lips. He smiled. There was warmth once more._

_‘Thank God,’ gasped Suguru._

_* * *_

Mantaro blinked. He stirred against the bed, with the cushion crinkling behind his head. The movements were slow and strained, as he moaned and mumbled incoherent sounds, and his eyes faced in different directions, as he struggled to focus his gaze. Chaos smiled, as he dabbed at the still clammy brow with a wet cloth. He kept the action soft and slow, so as to give Mantaro time to adjust to the sensations, and slowly – with low groans – Mantaro’s eyes refocused.

It was dark in the hospital room, with only a stray light from the open window. The bright moonbeam caught on those blue eyes, making them almost glow in the shadows, and Chaos pressed a chaste kiss to a still-damp forehead, as he placed the cloth to one side. He pulled the thick blankets high, before he tucked them beneath a mask-covered chin. Mantaro sighed. The remote for the bed sat beside his thickly bandaged hand, and his fingers awkwardly poked and stroked at it, as he struggled to get a good grip of the control. Chaos pressed the button for him.

The bed slowly rose with a groan of gears. It stopped when Mantaro was in a natural sitting position, but the noise disturbed Bibimba and Suguru, as they stirred in their sleep from a shared sofa across the room and just opposite the bed. Bibimba fluttered her eyelids, as she whispered _‘Mantaro’_ in broken voice, but – with a long sigh – she fell back into a deep slumber. Chaos smiled, while Mantaro looked around and fidgeted in an attempt to relearn his own movements.

“I’m still here?” Mantaro asked.

“You’re still here,” whispered Chaos.

Mantaro furrowed his brow, as he uttered a soft ‘ _huh_ ’. He slowly lifted his right arm, whose wrist was most shallowly cut and whose wound was slowly healing, and raised it to his stomach, where it dropped with an exhausted thud. He panted. The callused fingers ran over the now flat abdomen, who bore only the smallest paunch to mark what was once present, and suddenly the hand stopped . . . it trembled, it paled . . . tears broke at those eyes, until they trickled down his mask. A lump formed in his throat, which was visibly swallowed back. Mantaro choked:

“I lost them, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry, Mantaro.” Chaos winced. “They did all they could, I swear.”

“It’s okay.” Mantaro sniffed. “It’s weird, though; I didn’t think I’d miss them, but I feel like there’s a part of me missing. I feel . . . _sad_. It’s so messed up, isn’t it? Like, they were _forced_ on me and I had no say in their conception, and I was so scared that they’d ruin my life, like I’d be forced to make sacrifices or they’d come between us or it’d all go wrong, but . . .

“They were also a part of me, you know? They didn’t choose to be conceived, and they needed me to keep them alive and protect them. I mean, I couldn’t protect myself, but . . . I could protect _them_ and I could keep them safe. I was starting to wonder what they’d look like when they were born, whether they’d be a boy or a girl, and even if I did give them up for adoption, I’d have known _something_ good could have come from all this. I’d have given them a good life.

“Be careful what you wish for, huh? I can’t tell if I’m being punished or rewarded, but I just know that . . . whatever I wanted _then_ . . . I don’t want this _now_. I mean, they had so much potential, and now it’s just all . . . _gone_. I know it’s stupid, but when I did what I did -? I don’t know. It never occurred to me that if _I_ died, that _they’d_ die, too. It’s so messed up.”

“Mantaro, I –”

“No, it’s okay. It’s all my fault, anyway.”

A shuddered sigh escaped his lips, as he stroked at his stomach. The corners of his eyes crinkled, as the sad smile that broke across his face deepened the lines, and his mask seemed baggy on his face, as if he had suffered some weight loss from the previous days of starvation. Chaos sat closer on the edge of the mattress, which dipped a little under his weight. A series of sniffs escaped Mantaro. They echoed about the room, mingling with the small snores from Suguru, who sprawled out on the couch. Chaos took Mantaro’s hand and whispered:

“The only person to blame is Buffaloman.” 

Mantaro pulled away his hand. He dropped it back onto his stomach, where he stroked at the blankets and hospital gown, and shook his head with a broken laugh, as a stray tear rolled down his cheek and dropped onto the white fabric. Chaos dropped his hands onto his lap, before he moved his gaze towards the heart-rate monitor. The machine picked up in its rhythm, just enough to cause concern and yet not set off any alarms, and Mantaro took in quick and shallow breaths, as his head shook over and over. Chaos bit hard into his lip. He swallowed hard.

“That’s not true, though, is it?” Mantaro scoffed. “I mean, he wasn’t the one to run a family heirloom over my wrists and let me bleed out in a locked bedroom. If Ikemen hadn’t put two and two together -? _Fuck_ , I’d be dead right now! I’m the one who put this strain on my body. I’m the one who deprived the baby of blood and oxygen. I’m the one who . . . killed them.”

“Don’t do this, Mantaro. Don’t make it worse by blaming yourself.”

“Who else do I have to blame? I could have met them, if I’d just waited a few months more, but instead I have to carry a small coffin and say goodbye before I could even hold them. It’s not fair, but I brought it on myself . . . I brought it all on myself . . . it’s all my fault.”

Chaos spun around. He grabbed at Mantaro’s trembling hand. It was soon pressed towards his lips, as he planted a series of soft and chaste kisses over every knuckle and fingertip, and – with whispered reassurances – Chaos held tight enough to leave white marks on flesh. He carefully placed his fingers around the canulla, to avoid dislodging it from the skin, but it was an awful reminder of Mantaro’s fragility . . . his mortality . . . the wire dangling from the drip tapped with each movement on the metal of the bed. Chaos choked out through tears and mucus:

“So why’d you do it? Why try to kill yourself?”

A low shrug was the only response. Mantaro used his free hand to wipe at his eyes, until – with frantic movements – Chaos darted to the bedside table and fumbled for a box of tissues. He shot back onto the bed and thrust them at Mantaro. Mantaro laughed. A tissue was taken with a trembling hand, before the tears were slowly mopped away, and Chaos pulled out a few more ready for the inevitable blow of the nose, prompting Mantaro to mutter: _‘you worry too much’_. It was quiet between them, as Mantaro sighed and sniff, until he said in a quiet voice:

“It felt like I was being raped all over again.”

“Oh, Mantaro . . .”

“I – I don’t expect people to get it, but somehow . . . somehow having the videos and photographs leaked felt _worse_ than the rape itself, like I was being violated on a whole other level, and I just couldn’t cope with that. I was on edge the whole time, like there were bees inside my head and my skin was on fire, and I couldn’t settle or calm or concentrate . . .

“It was just something private before, like something only _I_ had to deal with, and then he – he – he showed _everyone_ . . . it took away any control I had, because suddenly everyone was a part of the rape and saw everything and knew everything and I -! It took away my consent, _again_. It left me exposed and vulnerable, _again_. I felt like it was always in my head, and every time anyone looked at me, I was wondering if they saw me as a survivor or as a - . . . a victim.

“The newspapers just compounded everything. I don’t know how they got a hold of the videos, but there’s one on the dark web making the rounds, and one tabloid had ‘censored’ a photograph of me, too. I think it was taken down pretty quick, because of the strict laws, but how am I supposed to feel knowing there’s a group of sleaze-ball rapists and paedophiles jacking off to me on illegal sites? They’re talking about my body, my reactions, saying that I ‘wanted’ it . . .

“It’s never going to go away, Chaos! It feels like I’m reliving it all over again, and when is it going to go away? A part of me thinks it would have been better to have never said anything, and to just let Buffaloman have his way, because . . . because . . . because then it’d have been a rape between two people and not the whole fucking _world_! I just - . . . it’s too much to process.”

“I’m sorry, Mantaro. I’m so sorry.”

“I just feel _trapped_. I’m at the mercy of the press now. I can’t . . .”

Mantaro ran his hands over his face. The beeping of the machines increased, until Bibimba stirred and moaned from the sofa, and Chaos quickly placed his hands on Mantaro’s upper arms, while he hummed an old lullaby taught to him by his mother. The beeping slowed down, but it was still too quick for comfort. A loud whirring noise echoed out. The blood pressure cuff around Mantaro’s arm quickly took its measurement, before it deflated and let out a strange beep that was at odds with Mantaro’s warped sobbing and laughter. Mantaro threw back his head.

The expression was one contorted and abnormal. It was difficult to decipher, as his arms dropped back at his sides, and Chaos returned to mopping his brow, as he kept he avoided eye-contact and whispered ‘I’m sorry’ like a mantra to Mantaro. The two remained in silence, as a few doctors raced by outside for other patients. It was strange in hospital . . . medicine cabinets slammed, other patients shouted out in panic . . . it was a constant cacophony of chaos.

“I didn’t want to die,” sobbed Mantaro. “I just wanted the pain to stop. I just wanted to be able to feel like I wasn’t in the middle of a panic attack all the time, like it was just constant anxiety and sadness and . . . and not even what I think of as ‘depression’ . . . it was like a black hole swallowing up my insides, a cold darkness like nothing I’ve ever felt . . . it was terrifying . . .”

“The – The doctor says that there’s a specialist you can talk to . . .”

“What good is that? I’m already in therapy . . .”

“I think it’s a psychiatrist,” said Chaos. “They – They can prescribe medicines, but strong ones that might take the edge off . . . just until you’re strong enough to cope without them, as it’s not a forever thing, and there’s different types of therapy to try, too. He’s given your parents a whole list of different types, and there’s even some inpatient stuff, too, we have options.

“It won’t be easy, but you won’t be alone. Your mom and dad are going to take turns staying with you every night, and Jacqueline and Ikemen are going to trade off with me to stay during the daytimes with you, and Robin Mask and Ramenman are coming over to Planet Kinniku, too, so that they can see you and make sure you’re okay. Rinko is trying to arrange some time from school, and even Genta has written you a get-well-soon card. It’s cute, honest.

“Buffaloman can’t hurt you any more than he’s already done. He’s in jail and all the original stuff has been deleted, and the police are scouring the deep web and they’ve already closed down one site and arrested some more people. They say your photographs and videos haven’t been shared too much, but some of the kids on those sites . . . it makes me sick . . .”

Chaos threw a hand to his mouth. The bile burned at the back of his tongue and throat, while his head swam and his body swayed. It would have been easy to say ‘ _your photographs led to the arrests of many more men and saved many more children’_ , but . . . it felt wrong . . . the empty reassurance died before it was born, as Chaos pressed is lips together in a tight line. The tears mingled with sweat and stung his eyes, bringing more tears in the process, and Chaos rubbed at them with forceful pressures that had him seeing stars. He forced out in a shaking voice:

“The important thing to know is you’re not alone.”

“Chaos, I don’t –”

“ _You’re not alone_.” Chaos took his hand. “I – I mean there will always be people who understand what you’ve been through, and sometimes I wonder just how much I’ve repressed from the attack on my people and my family, but I always know . . . no matter how bad things get in my head . . . I’ll always have people who love me unconditionally, like we love you.”

“But that doesn’t undo the pain, does it?”

“No, but the pain does ease over time . . . like the cut on your wrist, I guess. It stings like a bitch now, but eventually it’ll ease off and soon you won’t feel it at all . . . it’s only when you look at the scar that you remember the pain, but weirdly it’s the memory of the pain that hurts more than the pain itself? Like when you lose a leg and still feel pain in the leg, I guess. It’s always with you, but you grieve more what’s missing than what’s there, but . . . I’m not making sense, huh?”

Mantaro laughed. It was the first sincere and carefree laugh in recent memory, and – with a shake of his head – he raised his weak arm and signalled Chaos to come closer, until Chaos rested his head just above Mantaro’s heart. The position was difficult with so many wires and tubes and machines, but there it was . . . the steady beating . . . proof of life. Chaos smiled. A limp hand stroked at his blond locks, while Mantaro hummed back the same tune from earlier, and Chaos lifted his head just enough to see a gentle smile that stood bright. 

“You make perfect sense to me,” said Mantaro.

A hand lifted his chin, so that Mantaro could deliver a soft kiss. It was both familiar and strange, filled with the usual love and yet filled with trepidation, and – as they parted – Chaos stroked at Mantaro’s cheek and saw the tears return, as if Mantaro flitted between love and sorrow. The heart-monitor slowed down, as Mantaro fumbled for the remote to the bed. It slowly lowered back into a reclining position. Chaos awkwardly kept his feet on the ground, as Mantaro asked:

“Can you sleep beside me? I don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Do you even have to ask, Mantaro?”

Chaos slowly stood. He came around the bed, so as to avoid the side with the most wires and machines, and awkwardly helped Mantaro to scoot along the mattress, so that he could share the small single and wrap his arms around him. The blanket was pulled up over their waists, while Chaos nuzzled against Mantaro’s neck just like the times before Buffaloman . . . before the abuse . . . the heart-rate quickened, until Chaos pulled back and whispered gently:

“I won’t ever leave you, Mantaro.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Ah, Mantaro, it’s good to see you!”

Ikemen jumped to his feet. The fire roared from across the lounge, sending strange shadows darting about the wall opposite, and Mantaro – from within the doorway – was cast both in darkness and light, as he shuffled from foot to foot. Ikemen darted to his side, where he took Mantaro’s hand and shook it firmly until his whole arm jerked. A low cry escaped Mantaro. He pulled back his hand and clasped it to his chest, as he rubbed against the exposed wound.

It was half-healed, but it was still inflamed with a soon-to-be raised scar. Ikemen shot out a rapid string of apologies, as he threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but – as Meat sighed from the sofa – Jacqueline rose and came to stand between them. A hard nudge to Ikemen’s stomach soon silence him, as she whispered a cold ‘idiot’, and a smile was forced upon her face, as she escorted Mantaro over to the sofa and sat him beside Meat. Ikemen followed, albeit winded and flushed. He took a seat on a nearby armchair, as he chirped in a casual voice:

“How did therapy go today, hmm?”

Mantaro threw himself back against the sofa cushions. Jacqueline and Meat sat on either side of him, with just enough distance to give the illusion of space, and his traced over the closing wound on his wrist, which was still marked with several stitches. He held a focused gaze upward, but there were visible bags beneath his eyes where his mask sagged. Every breath was slow and steady. The silence between them was punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, as well as the pacing of the guards in the hallway outside. Jacqueline whispered:

“You don’t have to talk, if you’re not ready.”

A few tears pricked at his eyes, as his lips trembled. Mantaro raised a hand to wipe them away, while a broken laugh broke from his throat, and – with a shuddered breath – he dropped his hand and bore a smile that was more sincere than the last. He looked slowly from person to person, enough that Ikemen dropped his gaze with a blush and another muttered apology. Jacqueline lifted her hand stroked at Mantaro’s head, with slow and lingering touches that were reminiscent of Bibimba at his bedside so many days previous. Mantaro sniffed and whipped at his nose.

“Where’s Chaos?” Mantaro asked.

“He’s a _teensy_ bit exhausted,” said Ikemen. “I sent the poor mite to bed. I only just realised he’s been training and studying all day, looking after you all evening, and then waking up during the night to check on you, out of fear you might need him. I’ve called for Sister to come visit with Genta and a few others . . . maybe she can talk some sense into the chap.”

“The king isn’t doing much better,” muttered Meat. “He was already so sick, but now he’s been turning down treatments in case it makes him tired or nauseous. He’s too selfless to a fault, and I called Terryman to come around, but even that’s not helping him to calm down.”

“Will you two quit it?” Jacqueline smacked the back of Meat’s head. “You’re just going to make Mantaro feel guilty. We’re all worried, _yes_ , but that’s . . . well . . . that’s life. It’s _good_ that’s life, because I’d rather us all be worrying than grieving. This could have gone badly.”

“I know, but we’re not out of the woods, yet. It’s only been a few weeks, but Junior could be in therapy for a lifetime, and . . . I’ve just started going to therapy, too. It’s a tough process, but I’m glad that I finally get to talk about stuff, because it feels like I’m being heard . . . validated . . . stuff that I weirdly couldn’t tell anyone else . . . I hope it’s helping you, too, Junior?”

Mantaro let loose a low groan. It was close to a whine, like when he would complain about training over the weekend, and Ikemen chuckled with his fist over his mouth, as Mantaro dropped forward and rested his arms on his knees. There was less definition to his muscles, but his form was perfect and his skin was regaining its colour. The fingers on his hand flexed. He opened and closed a fist, as proving to himself that it was possible, before he dropped back again with his arms folded across his chest. He cricked his neck, before he said with a pout:

“Yes and no.”

A low hum fell from Ikemen. He walked towards the table centre of the room, where an array of small snacks littered every inch of the polished wood, and took the long stem of a crystal glass into hand, before he sniffed at the wine. It was sweet to taste, but enough of a distraction that he could ignore his racing heart and clammy hands. The wine shook from within the glass. He held onto his wrist with his other hand, as he drew in slow and deep breaths, and – turning with a smile – raised his glass to Mantaro and stood against the fireplace.

“How’re you feeling?” Ikemen asked.

“I mean, I have some closure from Buffaloman being locked away.” Mantaro winced. “I sometimes think it would have been better if I hadn’t come forward, like I should have just put up with the abuse, but then I think about what he did to Meat and -? I don’t know. How many other victims have there been? How many more _could_ there have been?

“He can’t hurt anyone else now. We’re all safe. It’s good . . . I mean . . . I feel like something good has come from this, like I’ve saved someone else from killing themselves or living with trauma or breaking under the strain, but . . . I still feel _dirty_. I feel _contaminated_. I also know that the police say all the videos and photographs are gone, too, but there’s this fear . . . this fear that they missed just one single image, and years from now it could come back to haunt me . . .

“And what of all the people who _aren’t_ royalty? I know the police do all they can for everyone, but resources are limited and surely not every photograph can ever be found? I – I kind of want to do something for those people . . . maybe I can donate some money, or speak on behalf of a charity, or volunteer some time in a shelter? I need to do _something_ , though.”

Mantaro jumped upright. He marched away from the sofa, where he paced behind it with his head low and hands clasped behind his back. Ikemen noted how his eyes narrowed, while his lips pursed into a tight line, and the muscles in his arms tensed until veins bulged. The fire was warm, enough to straddle the line between pleasure and pain, as Ikemen rested his forearm against the mantelpiece and swirled his glass. A series of low hisses of breath escaped Mantaro, before he stopped and dug his hands against his scalp. Meat stood and came around to whisper:

“The bad feelings will ease off soon, Junior.”

He came close to Mantaro, with slow and steady steps. A soft hand touched on Mantaro’s leg. Mantaro jerked away. He stumbled backward over his feet, until he was forced to brace himself on an antique side-table, and – as his wrists bent to take the strain – a high-pitched cry escaped him, and he dropped down onto the carpeted floor. Meat and Jacqueline ran to him, but he threw out a hand to keep them at a distance . . . the stitches were still in place, the wound was free from blood . . . Mantaro cursed and sat cross-legged, as he stared hard at Meat and asked:

“So you don’t feel bad at all?”

“I didn’t say that, Junior.” Meat shook his head. “The scars it leaves will never fade, but recovery isn’t a straight line, it’s . . . well, it’s like a zigzagging line upwards, where some days you’ll fall back and others you’ll make huge leaps, but do you know what? Two steps forward and one step back is still one step forward. One day, you’ll look back and be amazed at how far you’ve come, because you’ll be _happy_ in your life and filled with love. I promise.”

“You won’t be alone,” swore Jacqueline. “You never have to go back to Earth, not if you don’t want to go back, but you’ll always have friends there that will visit and message and call and remember all you did to make their lives better. You’ll also have your family and friends here, and Chaos isn’t going anywhere, Manta. We’re not either. It’ll be okay.”

“Buffaloman has an incredibly long sentence,” added Ikemen. “It’s unlikely that he will be released this decade, possibly even in the next decade, and – when he does – he will be on a register that will forbid him work with young or vulnerable people. I believe he’s also been completely exiled from Planet Kinniku, so there is no way that he can ever see you again.”

“Ikemen and Meat are right, Manta . . . the videos are all deleted, he’s behind bars . . . you can work on your recovery now. It’s time we all thought about the future. This will always hurt, and it’ll always be with you, but – each and every day – you’ll think about it a little less and feel better all the more. We’ll be with you every step of the way, too. I won’t go back to Earth until I know you’re okay, and Rinko is coming here during the school holidays, too.”

Mantaro sprawled out. He ran a hand over his face. The table behind him rattled, as he fell back against its leg and rested his weight on the wooden limb, and the vase on top threatened to topple over, enough that Jacqueline shot out a hand to brace its weight. Ikemen winced. He looked down into the wine glass, before he downed the last of the contents, and – with a loud exhale – marched towards the table and snatched at a beef bowl, as he forced a bright smile. He carried it over to Mantaro, before he knelt down before him and slid over the bowl.

“I – _ah_ – hope this isn’t too forward either,” muttered Ikemen. “It’s just that we had plans to hold another awards ceremony, maybe making them a low-key annual event, but . . . well . . . you endured so much, stood so strong, and are such an inspiration to other victims, that -? I wondered whether it would be okay to award you the MVP award? I felt it important.”

“It sounds like a pity award,” muttered Mantaro.

“No, it’s anything _but_ that,” swore Ikemen. “You really turned yourself around after the Olympics, and then – even in the face of such trauma – you turned up to every practise and volunteered for every exhibition match and took all the overtime possible. You never let your trauma hold you back, but gave your all to your friends and teammates and career.

“Heck, even when things were too much to endure, and even after your suicide attempt, you still get up and stand strong and sit here among us with perseverance to make a better future. You’re even thinking about volunteer work, when you should be thinking about yourself!”

“You’re a true hero, Junior,” said Meat. “Without you, I’d not have come forward.”

“And I’d have lost one of my best friends,” added Jacqueline.

“And so many other victims would not have been saved,” finished Ikemen.

Mantaro sniffed. He wiped away a tear and smiled. It brought lines to the corner of his eyes, as the blue sparkled in a way that had rarely been seen in some weeks, and – with a laugh – he lifted his fist and held it between them, until Ikemen fist-bumped him in return. The tap was awkward, with it being the first fist-bump of his life, and he stared strangely at his now open hand, while Mantaro muttered a teasing comment and dropped against Jacqueline, who held him close. Meat took his hand and stroked at his palm, while a lazy smile fell against Mantaro’s lips, as he said:

“I just wish things could go back to normal.”

He closed his eyes, while the fire slowly died down. It was growing darker beyond the grand windows, where the black sky caused the glass to reflect the lounge back on them, and it created the illusion of a world that was uniquely theirs, as they sat together on the floor. Ikemen chuckled, as he remembered building forts with Jacqueline as children and camping on the floor for movie nights . . . there was something intimate about sitting away from the sofas. He slowly stood and collected the sofa cushions, while Meat and Jacqueline cuddled against Mantaro.

“We all have scars,” said Jacqueline. “It’s just that yours are visible, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” replied Meat. “I was once told that that scars remind us that the past is real, so we always know where we came from and what we survived. If you ever feel weak, you can look down at those scars and know just how far you’ve come and see your true strength.”

“This is a part of you, Manta, but it doesn’t have to define you.”

“Only _you_ can define who you are, Junior.”

Ikemen returned with the sofa cushions. He gestured for the others to half-stand, so he could slide the cushions beneath them, and – once done – used the remaining cushions to create ‘walls’ and a ‘roof’, until the fort was complete. It brought laughed to Mantaro, who was caught between tears and laughter. Ikemen fetched a tray of snacks and drinks. They were placed neatly in front of the fort, between him and the others, and soon everyone was picking at their favourite treats, while making small-talk and gossip and laughing until tears fell. It felt good to laugh again.

“Thanks, guys,” chirped Mantaro. “I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time. I know it’s not going to be easy, but . . . with therapy and your support, I’ll get through this, and I’ll know it’ll be okay. I just – I just don’t know what I can do to thank you, because you’ve done so much for me . . . I just hope you can be patient with me. It’s still so hard, you know?”

“If anything, you need to be patient with us,” said Ikemen. “I know this could take months, years, or even a lifetime, but we’ll be with you every step of the way. It can be hard to _see_ trauma, as it’s so unlike a physical injury, so I’m more concerned in case -?”

“In case one of you snaps at me or teases me?”

Ikemen blushed. He opened his mouth, but Mantaro shook his head with a smile. The beef bowl had stopped steaming from the tray, but the scent was still strong and made his mouth water, and Mantaro – with a chuckle – pulled the tray towards him and picked at it with his chopsticks. It was so close to normality, as it nothing had occurred beyond the ordinary, and Mantaro chomped down with his usual speed and ferocity, as rice spilled onto the tray. Mantaro soon paused with a piece of beef held just above the bowl, while his mouth pulled into a half-smile and he added:

“To be honest, I’d prefer that. I’d _kill_ for someone to just slap me upside the head, or yell at my face for slacking off, or roll their eyes at a bad joke . . . I just want to go back to normal. I want to _be_ normal. So if you do forget -? That’s _good_ , right? It just means things are back to how they were, and we’re all comfortable with each other again. That’s all.”

“You’re going to be okay, Mantaro. You will.”

“I think . . . I think I’m close to believing that,” said Mantaro.

Jacqueline and Meat hugged him again. The hand holding the chopsticks was lowered, enough that Ikemen was able to coax them from his fingers and hold his hand, and – surrounded by friends and held close by them all – his eyes half-closed and his face fell at peace. He slowed his breathing, while his head rested against Jacqueline’s shoulder . . . exhaustion appeared to be setting in, as his body fell limp and relaxed against her . . . he whispered out:

“Thank you guys . . . for everything.”


	19. Epilogue

Chaos was beautiful.

He lay against the cool satin sheets, with every inch of his body exposed. The skin was so soft and smooth, without a single blemish or mark, and the hue was almost tanned in the dawn, as the gentle sunlight broke through the windowpanes. Mantaro raked his eyes over every muscle and curve, while a blush crept over his cheeks at the blond happy-trail that led to an impressive member, and – with a spluttered cough – fidgeted where he lay on the king-sized bed.

The warmth of his pyjamas was exacerbated by the new arousal, as Mantaro toyed with the collar of the pyjama top, and – as his mouth opened with a half-formed word – Chaos rolled over into his space, when he partially covered him with his own form. A hand rested on Mantaro’s shoulder, while Chaos entwined their legs with slow and steady movements. It only added to the warmth. Mantaro gasped. The hot breath of Chaos rested against his lips, as their noses pressed together, and suddenly Chaos delivered a slow and deep kiss that struck him to his core.

It made his heart race, as tongues entwined and lips moved. He arched his back, before he rolled onto his back, as his member perked to life and grew fully erect. It rubbed against the layers of his underwear and pyjama bottoms, while the grinding of Chaos’ leg provided a steady pressure, and sparks of arousal shot through every nerve and vein. He broke the kiss with soft pants, as his legs instinctively nudge apart Chaos’, and – with a few chuckles – Chaos sat astride him, with his hands exploring every inch of Mantaro’s clothed body. They locked eyes.

The intimacy from simply _seeing_ each other was intense . . . Mantaro shuddered. He lowered his gaze to see how Chaos’ member twitched, and how he ground down against the erection below, as if he could somehow get it to enter him despite the fabric. He moved his hands. It was fine at first . . . gentle, intimate, romantic . . . then the fingertips brushed beneath the hem of his pyjama top, where they stroked against the bare skin of his abdomen. Mantaro squirmed.

“Chaos, I – I’m not . . . I don’t . . .”

It was nice to feel Chaos grinding down on him, frotting against him . . . _sweet friction, pre-come leaking from his tip, the erotic rhythm and pressure . . ._ every ‘O’ shaped moan of Chaos was enough to bring him close to the edge, but those hands -! The skin-on-skin contact burned, like acid being poured over exposed flesh. The hands moved upward. They were closer and closer to his nipples, ever so slow and soft and steady, until . . . finally . . . they rubbed against his nubs.

“Stop,” gasped Mantaro. “ _Stop_.”

Chaos yanked his hands back. He swung his leg over, as he threw himself down off Mantaro. A series of loud pants and groans betrayed his disappointment, while his callused hands shot down to his groin, and – with a sharp grip – Chaos fought to stave off his arousal. The rises and falls of his chest brought small winces to Mantaro, who whispered a ‘sorry’, but Chaos simply rolled onto his side . . . he smiled with such warmth that his eyes sparkled . . .

A shared moment passed between them. It broke a smile over Mantaro’s lips, as a swell of emotion washed over him . . . the adrenaline dropped from his veins, making way for a warmth that slowly spread every upwards, and – as he rolled to face Chaos – his eyes watered with a wave of love that matched nothing else in the world. It burst out of him in laughter. There was no containing the relief and adoration that flooded him in equal measure, and soon Chaos followed his lead, until both lay side-by-side with such laughter that tears streamed. Mantaro choked:

“Why are we laughing?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Chaos. “It just feels good to laugh, though. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since everything happened, and – honestly – for a while I thought we’d never get this far in things, but . . . here we are! It’s – It’s honestly an honour that you’d trust me this much, because there’s no one else I’d rather be doing – _you know_ – ‘stuff’ with . . .”

“So we’re still calling it ‘stuff’, huh?” Mantaro laughed. “Seriously, it took me like a year just to be comfortable seeing you naked, and – in that year – you seem to struggle more with saying the word ‘sex’ than I have in my entire recovery to date. That’s so cute!”

“Hey, I’m not cute! I – I’m – I’m . . .” Chaos whispered: “Sexy.”

“You just _whispered_ sexy. Oh my god, _super cute_!”

“You’re being mean. Quit it!”

Chaos dove for him. The hands came about his clothed waist, where they tickled at his sides, and Mantaro – with high-pitched squeals – writhed and fought and screamed out through his laughter, until Chaos dropped down onto him with a loud ‘oomph’. It knocked the wind from both of them, but it allowed for a perfect embrace. A pair of arms wrapped around his waist. A pair of legs entangled with his lower limbs. Chaos buried his face into the crook of Mantaro’s neck, where he breathed deep and pressed soft kisses against the smooth column of neck. Mantaro asked:

“Is this – Is this okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“ _This_.” Mantaro hummed. “I’m eighteen, and you’re sixteen . . . we should be at it like rabbits, but instead we’re just kissing and touching and getting used to some nudity. We were doing _way_ more before everything kicked off, and – I don’t know – I guess I’m just worried this isn’t enough for you, as I’ve seen you pop boners over a strong breeze outside.”

“Hey, if I need a release, I’ve got my right hand and an _en suite_.” Chaos laughed. “We’ll get to where we need to be in the end, and – even if we don’t – I’m never happier than when I’m with you just lying beside you and holding your hand and looking into your eyes . . .”

“I love it when you’re romantic,” said Mantaro.

“I’m just saying, it’d be _great_ if we could get back to being fully physical, but – if not – I don’t think we’d be missing anything . . . we’d still have each other, we could still have kids . . . there’s more to life than ‘stuff’, right? I’d rather have a thousand days seeing you smile than one single night of making physical love. Your smile is all I need, Mantaro.”

Mantaro sniffed. A small tear ran down his cheek, into the pillow below. He placed both hands on Chaos’ cheeks, before pulling Chaos away an inch of so, and – looking deep into those amber eyes – Mantaro burst into tears, as his smile remained and his cheeks flushed. Mantaro pressed a kiss to Chaos. It lingered and deepened, as he slid his hands down that neck and chest and waist, before looping around and stroking against his back and shoulders. He explored every inch of flesh, dedicated to memorising every last part, and broke the kiss with a loud gasp.

“I love you, Chaos,” choked Mantaro. “I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready, but I know there’s no one else I’d ever feel ready with . . . I really appreciate how patient you’ve been, especially when it’s all been so hard, and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to thank me for doing what anyone would do.”

“But it wasn’t anyone, was it? It was all you.”

The sun rose ever higher outside. It broke through the windows, casting a glow over Chaos, until he was almost like angel leaning over Mantaro with his hair splayed like a halo, as he smiled with such warmth that his eyes twinkled. They laughed again. A warm breeze came in through an open window, where it brought goose-bumps against Chaos’ skin. Mantaro rolled them over, before pulling the blankets up high to their chins, and together they cuddled beneath the thick fabric, as they nuzzled against one another with small giggles. Chaos blinked back tears.

“It’s a new day,” observed Chaos.

“My pops always used to say that tag-partners shared one heart between two bodies, and that their two hearts beat as one . . . I can get that. I feel like – with you – I’m finally complete and everything comes together the way that it should. You’re my other half, for sure.”

“Even though everything’s changed, you’re still the same Mantaro.”

“And you’re still my Chaos . . . my love, my life . . .”

A soft kiss met his lips. They parted with soft giggles. Mantaro toyed with Chaos’ hair, while Chaos played with the hem of his pyjamas, and – with a loud knock – someone called into them to get ready for their studies and daily training routine. They shared a sigh, as they dragged themselves from bed and stretched out for the day’s events. Chaos came around the bed. He delivered one last hug to Mantaro, before he kissed his cheek, and Mantaro whispered:

“I think I’ll be okay.”

“I think so, too . . .”


End file.
